Translation
by MiseryMaker
Summary: A post 100th episode fanfic exploring the effects of that episode on Booth and Bones and their relationship.
1. Chapter 1

**_[A/N: I swore to myself that I was not ever going to write or post Bones fanfiction. But that 100__th__ episode was too good, too much, too inspiring. I needed to do more than think about it. So I caved. Thanks for stopping here and for taking the time to read this story. It's not long and I want to go on record as saying that it starts a bit slowly. I think I needed the time to explore Booth's mind slowly to see if I could really write Bones fanfic. _**

**_Still really nervous about this, but I'm just going to take a deep breath and click the button to post this. I don't think I'll ever truly be "ready" for this step. Bones fanfiction is entirely out of my comfort zone. This is harder than posting the first chapter of the first fanfic I ever wrote. _**

**_I am not in any way affiliated with Bones, its characters, or Fox Network, and I would not ever intend to infringe upon their ownership rights or to do anything more than honor my affection for the TV show by sharing my thoughts about it here with you.]_**

Foreword

Translation (as defined by Merriam-Webster online):

(1) an act, process, or instance of translating as: (a) a rendering from one language into another; _also_ **:** the product of such a rendering; (b) a change to a different substance, form, or appearance; (c) a transformation of coordinates in which the new axes are parallel to the old ones OR the uniform motion of a body in a straight line; or

(2) the process of forming a protein molecule at a ribosomal site of protein synthesis from information contained in messenger RNA.

Additional usage of the word "translation" as defined by the television show Bones in _Double Death of the Dearly Departed_: translation = code word for murder.

I found these definitions both informative and captivating. This simple word has the potential to be far more expressive than I realized before looking up its formal definition. May readers here find a number of ways this term has the potential to illuminate the intricacy of the relationship between Bones and Booth.

Chapter One: Weary Down Deep in His Own bones

As he unlocked his office door and flipped the light switch on, Special Agent Seeley Booth took a deep breath. Pausing for a moment to roll his head around on his shoulders, he tried in vain to alleviate a bit of the tension centered in there and lodged deep within his muscular neck. Shrugging with the futility of the attempt, he strode across the room quickly and circled the desk, flopping down into the chair out of habit but then wincing as his strong body made contact with the well-worn leather.

_Bones made sure that I got this chair_, his mind screamed into his weary body. He winced—any thought of his partner at the present time was difficult. The fact that nearly every thought brought her to mind was unbearable. Thoughts of her were making him nuts. But he'd long since lost the ability to stop thinking about her.

Agent Booth was a strong man in every sense of the word—in body as well as in mind and in spirit. As such, he had never been one to languish in self-pity. As a young man, he'd learned how to deal with his problems by keeping busy—planning ahead, thinking of ways to escape his father's drunken rage, comforting his mother, immersing himself in athletics requiring physical prowess, and making life more bearable for his damaged little brother. Later, as a soldier, he had buried his own pain and grief over losing comrades in arms by training harder, spending hours on the shooting range or planning strategies for extracting people from inescapable situations, or taking fellow soldiers' money at the poker table when they weren't on duty. He made a habit of preparing for everything and of lining his pockets with his successes to mask the fact that his heart was worn thin and too vulnerable for him to handle. The habit later became a crutch so often used that it qualified as an addiction. But even that didn't stop him from enduring and moving forward. As a father, he'd dealt with the frustration that the mother of his beloved child would not marry him and let him create his own functional, love-filled family. He ached to give Parker the kind of home he never had, but he was only able to give him a makeshift version every other weekend. Still, he persevered by throwing himself into his work, by calling Parker often and by being the best noncustodial parent he knew how to be. In his own little corner of the world, Special Agent Seeley Booth was strong, dependable, loyal—a good soldier and an even better man.

His childhood, his time as a soldier, his time being a parent, his career with the Bureau and even his faith had given him substantial experience and taught him how to deal with all manner of catastrophes. Perhaps that was the crux of the matter. Given his risky job and his service to his country, Booth had lost many friends and coworkers—more than most people would in a lifetime. He'd sold parts of his soul to do work too horrible to talk about, and he'd made mistakes that cost people their lives. He was accustomed to dealing with a highly volatile, completely unpredictable, extremely stressful job. He was certain that there were parts of the job that he could do better, but he considered that he handled it pretty damn well most of the time.

What was troubling him at this moment was that nothing in his experience—not enduring his abusive father, not remembering all of the lives he had taken, not missing important milestones his son achieved, not beating himself up for each of the victims he hadn't been able to save—nothing had prepared Seeley Booth for dealing with his current situation. Unaccustomed to being unprepared for anything, he now sat dealing with an emotion he usually avoided or pushed through quickly. He had no idea how in the hell he was going to deal with this. He had no idea how to be his partner's partner anymore. And he no longer knew how to function in a world in which they couldn't be partners.

Booth relished the fact that the office was still empty. He'd come in early, unable to stare at the walls of his apartment any longer. Sleeping had become even more difficult than usual lately. He figured that he'd stared actual patterns into the ceiling above his bed and his sofa as he had lain there trying to decide what to do next. After an exhausting weekend of frustrated inactivity, he needed to get to work and do something. He could always ground himself in doing something helpful or constructive or productive. Nothing else had helped, so he had chosen to focus on his work at the FBI.

As he shuffled slowly but methodically through paperwork that had been overdue for weeks, Booth pulled out a file and opened it thoughtfully. As he stared down at the contents of the folder, his blood pressure inched up a bit. This had been a tough one. Blinking twice as if that simple action might clear his mind, Booth reviewed the paperwork carefully. He glanced at the mug shots of the serial killer. The eyes said it all—the man had no soul. Never mind his crappy childhood and his even crappier adult life; both he and his partner were living proof that one could overcome a crappy childhood. And as one who had survived a generally crappy childhood, Booth found it hard to have any sympathy for someone who used such an experience as an excuse for stalking, kidnapping, torturing, and then killing teenagers for sport. Booth bristled remembering the anguish of worrying about where and when this monster would strike next during the case. After reminding himself that they'd caught him and that this was the paperwork he'd be sending to Caroline so that she could prosecute this worm so that they could bury him under the prison, he moved on. Not missing a detail, Booth carefully checked for fingerprints, reviewed the Record of Arrest and Prosecution sheet, counted the crime scene photos, checked for a signature on the lab report, re-read the arresting officer's report he'd written himself, and finally, scanned the folder of evidence assembled by his partner and her team from the Jeffersonian. Convinced that everything was in order, he closed the file, signed off on the form on the top, and slipped the entire thing into a large expandable file. After adding a routing slip with Caroline's name on top, he placed the folder on the edge of his desk.

Booth hated paperwork. He rarely, if ever, invested enough time to be truly caught up on the mundane task. He wasn't sloppy—his files were among the most organized and complete in his division, but he only got a thrill--a charge--out of that final act--placing the file in the folder so that he could let the Justice Department convict the jerks. This time, though, the rush just wasn't there. Booth was distracted from enjoying the fact that they'd assembled enough evidence to put this particular bad guy away. The case fit the bill for making him feeling triumphant, but Booth wasn't sure that he did—not anymore. Normally after a case like this, he'd have called Bones and told her that the file was ready and asked her to go to the diner for a celebratory piece of pie. But this time he didn't feel much like celebrating and calling Bones wasn't an option. As he surveyed his desk taking in its contents, he was struck with the knowledge that there were no other active cases there requiring his attention. For the first time in months, he was left with the mundane internal reports—plans for the requisite time at the firing range, his annual training plan for courses at the Academy, overdue expense reports, stacks of purchase orders for supplies the Jeffersonian used to support the FBI in investigating cases, etc.

Since he hated paperwork, Booth knew that he should be eager to wrap up these details and clear his desk of the last vestiges of the bureaucratic paperwork that stole too much of the fun from the job he wholeheartedly loved when he was busy doing it. Instead, he paused for a moment, scrubbed his hands harshly over his clean-shaven face to clear his mind, and leaned back in the chair, reminded with every inch of his always achy back that found support there of his partner, his friend, his soul mate. He hated the fact that thoughts of Bones now brought such sadness and unease. Without even realizing it, she had brought him so much comfort and happiness for years. She'd been his rock for so long that he felt truly windblown and unsteady without her at his side.

As he indulged his weary heart and let thoughts of her wash over him for a long moment, he realized what was wrong. Despite his pain and the fact that he wasn't sure how he'd handle working with her, he realized all too clearly what was troubling him most. He was dreading the thought of being reassigned to a regular FBI case. He didn't want to track interstate bank robbers with his pals or to spy on suspected terrorists or to review the paper trail of money laundering by the latest mobster. Ironically enough, what he wanted—no, what he needed was a call about a murder. What he wanted more than anything else at that very moment was to work to find the identity of another murder victim. What he needed—whether spending time with her working the case would crush him or not—was to work with his partner, his Bones. What Booth was waiting for was a chance to do what had become normal—to do what they did best. He wanted to help his partner assemble facts and evidence so that they could tell another family what had happened to their loved one. What Booth ached for in that moment was to immerse himself in a case with her so that he could forget how empty his life and his job now seemed when they weren't working together.

This reality was even more painful now that it appeared that they'd only be working together. His hopes of more than friendship and work had been dashed in a way that from anyone else only would have been cruel--but from the partner he knew so well, he realized it was just her way of dealing with her fears and brokenness the only way she knew how. Despite his uncertainty and the constant ache in his very large heart, despite the substantial pain he knew it might bring him, what Booth wanted most was to lose himself—he wanted to be carried away…. caught up… distracted…. He wanted to lose himself in the best part of his work. He wanted to lose himself in what he loved most about his work. He couldn't even bring himself to think her name without wincing even though she was on his mind constantly. He sighed and avoided thinking the truth—even to himself. For if he had, he'd have rushed straight across town and demanded that she reconsider, and he didn't know if either of them would be strong enough to deal with the fallout from such a drastic step.

Booth flipped his poker chip in the air a few times and sighed again before smiling a bitter half-smile as he found the right word to describe his longings. Of course the word brought to mind memories of a past case with her—the one after which she'd promised to visit his gravesite—no, he chided himself, reminding himself that he had to start remembering cases based on the facts instead of relating them some way to his partner—the case had involved the poisoning of Hank Reilly, a Jeffersonian staff member, by his own mother. Shaking his head in order to regain his focus, he realized that he wanted nothing more than to be immersed in a case that would remind him about the good and productive work he and his partner did so naturally and of the way that their friendship was strong enough to hold no matter the argument or the challenge or… he thought sadly, the heartbreak. What he wanted more than anything was to be lost in translation. He wanted to be lost in translation with Bones.


	2. Chapter 2

_**[A/N: I am honored that you've stopped to read, and I am very grateful for your comments—especially on that quiet first chapter. I was already in debt to both of them, but I want to publicly thank GreysIsTheCatsPajamas and ibelieveinthegood for their incredible moral support! You ladies are truly amazing!]**_

**Chapter Two: The Heart of the Heart of the Matter**

For the life of him, Booth couldn't remember when things had changed. Ever since he'd remembered the Reilly case, he'd come to realize that he now recalled every single case he had worked with Bones based on seemingly arbitrary things--things such as what he and Bones eaten from Wong Fu's when they figured out who had committed the murder and how it had happened; the raucous arguments they'd had in the field or at the lab; the memory or painful connection one or both of them made to the victim or the crime; or even their quiet conversations at the diner during or after each case. He truly treasured those quiet moments sitting across the table from her, drinking her in as she shared with him her revelations and questions about life or friendship or love. Those completely raw, brutally honest moments were so pure and so intimate and so much a factor in making him fall in love with her. Cop to the core, Booth was now shocked by the mental steps he had to take in order to come up with a decent police-style description of any past case. Booth couldn't pinpoint the moment at which he'd stopped thinking of the name of the "perp" or the type of the crime or even the face of the victim after Angela recreated it when remembering a case. Somehow, he'd begun relating everything about his work—even his description of it--to the woman he loved. Booth realized that now he had to work on translating his Bones-y memories of cases into traditional jargon when talking to anyone else about a case or he'd sound like a lunatic or a complete sap. He sighed as he realized that it was highly likely that he really might be a lunatic or a complete sap or both. His memories of cases were like everything else in his life. Bones had permeated his work and thoughts and feelings and private time. But most of all, she had laid claim—whether she wanted it or not—to his heart.

And so it was that the normally hopeful if not quite happy-go-lucky FBI agent spent the next few weeks walking around doing all of the things he normally did while being plagued with reminders of his partner and missing her more than he had thought possible. For instance, several nights this week, Booth had met up with the guys from the hockey team for practice. He had always been such a good player that they normally let him play even though he rarely made an appearance at practice. Eager for an outlet for his mounting frustration, Booth threw himself into the practice and enjoyed every bit of it immensely--the male bonding, the comfort of gliding along the ice the way he had since he'd been a kid and had used hockey as an escape from the dangers awaiting him at home, and the challenge of crashing his way mercilessly through teammates to recover the puck. He'd shrugged off his teammates' surprise when he'd said that he'd join them for a beer or two after practice was over. He couldn't remember when he'd stopped hanging out with the guys. He hadn't meant to do so—it had just happened. Bones had just happened.

As he had packed his jersey and skates away after practice, he had sighed internally. He was like those other guys who showed back up again after they got divorced or broke up with their girlfriends. He was now that guy--the guy who'd gone missing only to return feeling a bit awkward once his other life hadn't worked out. Only in his case, nobody else knew how very badly his other life had worked out. In some ways, Booth realized that he should be grateful that his grief wasn't out on display. He had glanced away quickly after Wendell had made eye contact with him. Even though he hadn't been sure of the details, Wendell had been the only one on the team who had any clue that something had happened to give Booth more free time to spend with his pals instead of spending that time with his partner. Booth had been grateful that Wendell hadn't said anything or asked him any questions. The sympathy in his expression had been hard enough to bear. Since they'd never actually dated, Booth's other teammates were clueless and had no reason to question his sudden reappearance. They were too busy celebrating the fact that more of Booth meant a great chance at more wins for them this season. Booth wished the thought of a victorious season could be enough to boost his own spirits.

Over time, Booth had gotten used to explaining that he was alone when asked by staff at restaurants they frequented, "Where is your partner?" or "Don't you need takeout for the doctor?" At least it reassured him to know that it hadn't all been his imagination—everyone else had become accustomed to thinking of them as a pair. Still, the constant barrage of questions about Bones was just another reminder of how much he missed her. He had been long past the point of needing any such reminder for a very long time.

Parker's questions about Bones had been the most difficult to answer. He'd always promised himself—and Parker—that he wouldn't lie to him. And Parker, being an insightful and curious child, had been overflowing with questions about where Bones was and when they'd see her next, and he had also been more than dissatisfied with his father's evasive answers. Last Sunday afternoon, Parker simply hadn't given the subject of Bones a rest. He had been playing with a magnifying glass that she'd given him from her personal collection at the lab and singing her praises—pointing out things he was observing that he couldn't wait to talk to her about. At one point, he had even demanded that they call her—insisting that his questions could not be put off. He had begun whining about making the phone call, and Booth had snapped at him to "drop it." When Parker protested, Booth had raised his voice and yelled that they were not calling Bones and that Parker had to learn to respect his decisions. Parker ran to his room in tears after the outburst. While it couldn't be considered even a minor parenting offense, it was more harsh than his typical reprimands, and Booth felt terrible about yelling at his son. He'd sounded domineering and intolerant like his father often had, and Booth had sworn not to be that type of father. After taking a few moments to calm down, Booth had made his way to Parker's room and apologized. Emboldened by his father's gentle tone and encouraging words, Parker had bravely asked his father why he had gotten so upset—they saw or called Bones all the time and he had thought that seeing her made his father happy. Big tears still threatening to fall, Parker admitted that he missed seeing her. Eyeing his father carefully, Parker watched his expression change. Sighing, Booth looked down at him and whispered, "I miss her, too." Parker leapt into his father's arms and hugged him tightly. Booth drew comfort from the hug and the sympathy of his son. As if sensing that something beyond his understanding must be going on, Parker didn't press his father for more information. Even as young as he was, he could see that his father had too much on his mind.

Over time, what bothered Booth even more than the direct questions about his partner were the little subtle things—the way the waitress shouted, "Tell Dr. Brennan that I said hi" as he left the diner, the funny thoughts he felt like sharing with her, seeing packages of her health food store products in his pantry, hearing her voice in his head sharing her opinions about his food choices and the fact that he watched too much television, noticing phrases or expressions people used that he knew would require translation for her to understand them, encountering scientific concepts he'd normally ask her to explain whether he really needed the explanation or not. No, he'd never admit that at his lowest moments he'd tried pushing his remote control into unchartered territory to find science channels because he needed something to distract him; things that reminded him of Bones were the only things that could hold his attention for long. After years of complaining about the science, he'd been horrified to realize that he actually missed not understanding what someone was talking about. Truthfully, he just missed not understanding what Bones was talking about and needing her to explain it to him. Needing her… for so much more.

Booth even missed the squints. Seeing Wendell had been hard enough. There was no way he was setting foot in that lab. Hodgins had developed an uncanny ability to sense his discomfort, and he knew that Angela and Cam would be able to read his misery in about half a second. He wasn't ready to deal with that—not yet. As he kept to the safety of his own office, Booth was struck by how similar and "boring" all of his coworkers now seemed. They all spoke "cop" and lived and breathed being agents. He didn't have to explain things to them—they were accustomed to using their guts and brawn and taking risks to solve cases. They were in it for the thrill or the justice. But they weren't all hell-bent on understanding the truth or on understanding microscopic evidence that most people didn't even know existed. Booth cringed as he realized that somewhere along the way, he'd embraced the part of himself that could have been a squint. Facing torture again would not have coerced him to admit that fact out loud—not even to Bones. But it stung more than a bit to realize that Bones was responsible for that change in him, too.

It wasn't as if they'd lost contact completely. He'd sent her occasional texts to check in, and they'd exchanged e-mails and a few voicemails. But he missed seeing her and talking to her and riling her up about things. Booth could tell that Bones was giving him space. _Jeez_, he thought, if Bones instinctively knew well enough to give him space, no wonder this was so hard for him to handle.

He tried to put things into perspective. He'd had breakups before—even with co-workers. He knew that, in time, the little things mattered less and became easier to bear and eventually simple to ignore or forget. However, even though this wasn't an official breakup, he suspected that this time things would be more difficult. _Suspected?_ Hell, he knew they would be.

Much as he had before he'd met her, Booth spent his days being a good cop and his evenings working out, playing hockey, and watching too much TV. He fell easily back into his old routine and began to adapt to the constant barrage of thoughts of Temperance Brennan that invaded his waking and sleeping mind. This proved to be even more difficult than pining for and lusting for her secretly for all these years. But while Booth was far from happy, he was coping. And he figured that he deserved points for coping, for walking upright and appearing to be completely normal while knowing that he'd lost his chance with "the one."

At work, the seasoned agent begrudgingly took on a few assignments he'd normally have passed on and made the additional effort to teach junior agents a trick or two while working cases that didn't challenge him or tax him in any significant way. After spending more time bonding with his coworkers, he became embedded in his own environment in a more positive way. More people stuck their heads into his office to tell jokes or chat about life in general, new staff started coming to him for advice, and seasoned agents consulted with him about their tough cases. He hadn't taken more than minimal time for those things in years. Finding a better purpose at the office helped ground him a bit. He'd found an outlet for a portion of the energy he'd devoted to working cases with and translating things for Bones these last few years.

After jumping headfirst back into the mainstream of life at the office, Booth had even accepted a task he'd have run from even a month before. His boss asked him to spend some time with Rod Jacobs, a young new hothead who had definite anger management issues. Chuckling internally that he might be considered patient by comparison to anyone, Booth struck up a conversation with Rod in the hallway and managed to "bump into" him casually a few times to get to know him better. Ever the careful observer, Booth got a read on the man instantly. Sadly, he knew all too well what a dangerous path the man was on.

A week or so later, he invited him to the gym for sparring practice after work. That night, the men met in the gym and suited up for an evening of boxing. The practice had begun simply enough, but Booth had quickly assessed his opponents strengths and weaknesses and—after allowing the man to grow comfortable with the false assumption that he had greater skills—begun the task of stripping the man of his advantage, his concentration, and his pride. With every jab and hook and with the eventual punch that—without headgear-- would have been a knockout, Booth purposefully annoyed his opponent, trying to spark the temper that was quickly becoming legendary. He turned the man's own fury around on him and made it completely evident that Jacobs had been the source of his own demise. After his rousing victory, Booth added just enough swagger to his step and more than enough taunting to his smirk to set the man on edge all over again. As they were leaving the gym, he made a snide remark that he fully expected to cause Jacobs to throw a punch. Sure enough, the man pushed Booth's shoulder to turn him around to face him and swung at him with all of his might.

Within seconds, Jacobs found himself face down on the concrete with his arm yanked up tightly behind his back. He could feel the pressure of Booth's knee holding him down. As he lay there immobilized, he heard the more seasoned agent lean over and whisper into his ear. "What was his scent of choice, Jacobs--bourbon, vodka, or scotch? Was it just you or were there younger, more defenseless kids you weren't big enough to protect? Did you have to watch him knock your mom around or was he a decent enough scumbag to do that behind the locked door so that you couldn't help her at all?"

Surprising Jacobs, Booth stood and released him. Reeling from how closely Booth had come to describing his childhood, a now somber Jacobs rolled over slowly and sat up, slowly looking up at the man who stood towering above him.

"I'll buy the beer. You can talk about it or not," Booth said calmly, extending his hand to help the defeated man to his feet.

"How could you tell?" Jacobs asked as the men climbed into Booth's truck.

"Lucky guess," Booth lied as he pulled out into traffic. He could sniff out a fellow child of an alcoholic from miles away. He had been that guy… He sighed internally at his mental choice of words that brought back painful memories but then focused on helping the broken man beside him since nobody was around to help rescue him from his own pain.

"Look, Jacobs, I know this is none of my business and I know that you don't know me that well. But I also know that you've got to stop putting his face on every jerk who ticks you off and every perp who's asking for a beating. You'll hurt an innocent civilian, or you'll let your guard down and end up dead. Trust me on this… it's OK to channel the anger to make you a better cop, but you have to stop short of channeling him," Booth said before growing quiet and giving the man some time to consider his words.

**************

After more events like getting through to Jacobs and watching him turn things around, Seeley started feeling more comfortable in his own skin again. Thoughts and feelings about Temperance were with him constantly, but he was managing his pain. After a few more weeks, nobody at the bureau would have suspected that Booth was anything but happy and thriving and enjoying his job. Nobody would have dreamed that he was still heartbroken and beyond consolation despite the fact that he was doing stellar work and that he appeared to have it all together. Nobody, that is, except the infuriating psychologist he'd been avoiding at all costs. If only he'd been able to keep him at bay.


	3. Chapter 3

**_[A/N: I am way more than honored by the warm reception this story has received. Thank you all so very much for reading and "alerting" and whatever else this site made possible! I waded around editing in this update a bit more than I usually do (the note at the end will explain why). I'd love to hear your thoughts on the way this plays out.]_**

Chapter Three: The Danger of Overindulging Sweets

Dr. Lance Sweets had been leaving messages for Booth since the day after "the talk" that had shot Booth's world to hell. On top of the daily voicemail messages, he'd sent e-mails, attempted to trap Booth in hallways and the parking garage (as if that would ever actually be possible), demanded that he stop by his office (as if Booth had ever listened to any such demand), and even followed him into the men's room. Booth still shuddered remembering that particularly traumatic event. Even so, he had begun to wonder if Sweets had taken a few serious classes at Quantico—the man was persistent and at times seemed to appear out of nowhere to try to persuade him to discuss his feelings.

Talking to Sweets was something that Booth just wasn't ready to do. Besides, if he thought long enough about it, he realized that he was too furious to be within a few feet of the pre-pubescent boy. He was going to avoid Sweets for the boy's own protection. If he were honest, Booth would have had to admit that he doubted he'd ever be ready to face the enthusiastic, well-meaning expression on Sweets' face for any length of time at all again. That look used to appeal to his optimism, but too much had happened because Booth had let that expression drive him to act upon a feeling he'd held sacred for years. Too much had now happened that couldn't be undone. Sweets was still a kid. Despite his degrees and his skill, he couldn't possibly be equipped to deal with the psychological hell Booth was in—especially since he'd been the one who had opened the door and given Booth a shove inside. Booth didn't plan on letting him know anything about that devastating conversation with his partner, and he wasn't going to give in to the psychologist's attempts to bully him into confessing his desperate longing for his partner or his recent heartbreak over it. So what did the rock-solid agent who'd faced and survived torture, pain, and death threats from vicious mercenaries bravely plan to do? He hid from the kid armed with nothing more than a few impressive diplomas and an annoying preoccupation with his love life.

Over time, Booth had used all of his skills—evasion, intimidation, threats, lies, physical prowess—you name it, he'd used it to avoid talking to his therapist. Booth was stubborn—he figured he'd outlast him. So far, his approach had been successful even though there had been a few close calls. He was willing to keep working hard to ensure that he continued to avoid the man at all costs.

Despite his short-term success in managing and evading the younger man, Booth had completely underestimated his persistence. Realizing that Booth was in stealth mode and trying to avoid him, Sweets had stepped up his pursuit. He dogged Booth in the hallways and followed him into stairwells. Regardless of the maneuver, Booth bit his tongue and kept moving. He was determined not to give in. He had been trained to be slippery and evasive; he excelled at both when determined. And he'd never been as determined as he was right now. Holding all of his pain and his turmoil inside was the only thing allowing him to cope. It was pure self-preservation keeping it that way. Avoiding Sweets seemed to be his only option. Since his days as a ranger when lives had depended upon it, Booth had hated not having multiple options for how to handle any given situation. When that happened, he usually leveraged the adrenalin rush and stress into focusing on making sure that his one remaining option stayed viable. Since his only option in the current situation was to avoid Sweets, Booth became hell-bent upon doing so. Predictably, this state of affairs quickly turned into a battle of wills among two smart, stubborn men, and Booth was determined to be the last man standing. As in most such situations, something—or someone--had to give.

After weeks of being ignored, Sweets was the one to reach his breaking point first. He surprised Booth with his last valiant effort at cajoling him into talking with him. Without hesitation and with a smirk that said he meant business and that he was going to push the agent harder, Sweets yelled out to Booth across a crowded hallway, "You leave me no choice, Agent Booth. I'll have to take up the issue of your completely unprofessional behavior with the Deputy Director." _Booth unprofessional?_ Most of the staff in the hallway froze where they stood considering the possibility. Sure, he and his partner had sparred openly about ridiculous subjects in the hallway, the elevator, and the parking garage on a regular basis, but that was as bad as it got. Booth was the consummate FBI agent—brave enough to take calculated risks but smart enough not to push the parameters of his working environment. This young shrink sure had guts. Nobody else within hearing distance would have been courageous enough to accuse Booth of anything resembling unprofessional behavior.

As Sweets' biting words wound their way past their co-workers and caused the entire hallway to fall completely silent, they lodged themselves in Booth's gut. His gut was an unusually anxious, frustrated, horrible place these days, and Sweets' inappropriate choice of words set him off. Having already begun to duck into his own office to avoid the annoyingly persistent therapist, Booth whirled and strode directly up to the younger man angrily, purposefully drawing himself to his full height and flexing his muscles wildly as he stood over him and demanded through gritted teeth that he repeat what he'd said. Booth had been too angry to notice that the silence in the hallway had become even more whisper-quiet or the fact that half of the office had now begun observing this heated exchange. The nerve of this little punk. Sweets' calling him unprofessional when the psychologist had been the one who'd turned into a complete quack full of crappy advice for Booth and his partner had been just too much for Seeley to bear.

The look on Booth's face conveyed such unbridled anger that Sweets retreated a few steps until his back hit the wall behind him hard. He'd long since understood that Booth's bark was almost always worse than his bite, but he hadn't seen the agent look quite that disturbed before. He found himself to be actually afraid that Booth might try to hurt him. When Booth called him out and demanded that he repeat his threat, Sweets choked out the words again in a shaky voice. Without pausing or saying anything else, Booth grabbed the younger man by the collar in precisely the way that a mother cat would pick up a disobedient kitten and dragged the psychologist, his feet barely touching the floor, back to the shrink's own office. Now with a new mission, Booth had ignored the stares and worried looks from his coworkers. He had been too angry to think about anything else but forcing Sweets to shut the hell up.

Sweets knew that he'd hit a nerve, but he became thrilled that Booth was finally paying him a long overdue visit. Trying to warm him up, Sweets started talking as they entered his office but his words soon squeaked out and then stopped completely as Booth continued to drag him toward his desk. Booth manhandled him and shoved him into his desk chair. Without asking, Booth began rifling through the man's desk drawers looking for something specific. When Sweets started to protest, Booth hissed, "Just shut the hell up, Sweets," in a voice that compelled him to be quiet. Lance sat there perplexed as Booth searched until he found what he wanted.

Booth slapped the pad of forms down loudly on the desk before shoving a pen into Sweets' hand. "Write this down," Booth said, nodding toward the psychologist to let him know that taking this dictation was a direct order. Silent and wary, Sweets watched as Booth thought carefully for a moment before trying to employ his own version of the psychobabble Sweets so often directed toward him.

"Agent Booth stopped by my office to check in today. Discussed current cases. No problems reported with Dr. Brennan and their partnership. After careful consideration, partnership deemed successful without intervention."

"Now sign it," Booth said with authority. Sweets had been tempted to put the pen down and protest, but the set of Booth's jaw and the way that he had started flexing his muscled arm made him reconsider. Begrudgingly, Sweets signed the form and handed it to Booth. To his surprise, Booth put the form back on the desk and barked, "Make five more copies. Sign them. Leave the date blank."

"My notes are like prescriptions, Agent Booth. I can't...."

"Just fill out the damned forms, Sweets," Booth growled, leaning over the man intending to frighten or force him into complying.

Hoping that giving in to this brute force intimidation would help him get some information, Lance did as he'd been told. However, he became surprised when—after taking the forms, folding them, and placing them in his jacket pocket--Booth turned to leave the office without uttering another word.

The therapist now realized that he had become the desperate one. He'd lost control of this situation and had now become completely convinced that he was on the verge of losing one if not both of his favorite patients, "I know my book was crap, but I was right about you. It's obvious that you're upset and uncomfortable with my suggestion that you come clean with Dr. Brennan. Let's talk about that. Maybe I can help."

Booth laughed for a moment as he paused to pace uncomfortably behind the sofa lost in his own thoughts. Midway down the distance again, Booth stopped and stared at the psychologist with an expression that no course or teacher could have prepared a therapist to experience. Booth stood there stunned into silence by the gap he'd seen between what Sweets had been thinking and the crappy way that things had actually turned out. His face bespoke his anger, his pain, and his disillusionment too clearly.

"Talking about what you're feeling with an independent third party like me might help. Might give you perspective. I know this is difficult."

"Independent my ass! And difficult? You have no idea at all what's difficult!" Booth exclaimed, resuming his angry pacing back and forth across the room.

"There's no need to yell, Agent Booth. Sit down and talk to me. Remember, I'm here to help. I have your best interests at heart," Sweets requested, finally daring to walk around toward the chair in front of his desk to sit down.

He'd underestimated the impact those simple words would have upon the man hearing them. Booth took that trite little "lie down on the sofa and tell me your troubles" as a complete slap in the face. He felt like a lab rat or a specimen Sweets thought he could pull out to examine and then discard as if it didn't matter. Unable to contain the anger the psychologist's words had inspired, Booth practically launched himself across the room. He moved without even thinking--like a lion poised to strike down its prey. With every daunting step closer, Booth flexed his fist, subconsciously preparing to smack it cleanly on the chin of the smaller man. Stunned by the attack, Sweets barely managed to stay on his feet as the larger man drew nearer. Without flinching, Booth threw a punch that barely missed clipping Sweets on the jaw and that still sent him sprawling into the chair behind him. Booth had been absolutely dumbfounded that Sweets had somehow managed to elude the jab. Fighting was like marksmanship without a weapon aside from one's body, and Booth prided himself on excelling at both. When Agent Booth threw a punch, he always made contact. He wasn't a newbie like Jacobs. Booth only grew more angry as the possibility crossed his mind that—like Jacobs--he'd let Sweets make him so angry that he'd caused himself to miss his own target.

For once, Sweets had been stunned into silence. Neither his considerable education nor his extensive experience had prepared him for the remote possibility that Booth would have tried to strike him. Sweets had long since concluded that threatening Dr. Brennan would be the only way he'd ever inspire that much wrath in the agent. He'd been dead wrong.

Booth had taken quite a bit off the punch, but he'd never have let Sweets know that. He wanted the man to suffer. He wanted him to know how truly angry he still was with him. He wanted him to think he'd tried to do damage to him. Booth had been momentarily stunned into inaction by missing his target, and as he looked down and saw the wreckage that had once been his therapist, Booth felt glad that he hadn't actually hit him. In fact, Booth almost felt guilty watching the younger, smaller man sit where he'd fallen into the chair with shock on his face and tears in his eyes. Booth almost felt remorse about it. Almost.

Recovering his mind and realizing that leaving would be best for both of them if not the only way to save his own career, Booth turned toward the door. But he quickly realized that once the cap on his anger had been ripped off, he no longer had a way to contain it. Furious, he whirled around and returned to tower over Sweets. Bracing himself on the arms of the chair and squeezing them until the marks he left were indelible, Booth spoke in a low, shaky voice that sent chills up the therapist's spine. Lance imagined that same voice threatening criminals and soldiers and murderers and breaking them down. Had Sweets been one of those characters, he'd have confessed whatever Booth wanted to hear. Since Booth seemed more interested in doing all of the talking, Sweets had become more than willing to allow that to happen. Booth glared at him and then intensified his gaze so much that Sweets would have squirmed had he not been so terrified, "I'm only gonna say this once. I don't want to talk to you. I don't need your help. These forms? I'll use them whenever I damn well want to skip a session… if I even agree to any more sessions. And you'll make more "passes" if I ask--as many as I want. Stop following me. Stop threatening me. Stop trying to get me to open up to you. That's just not going to happen. Not anymore. And stop pretending that you're half the shrink you think you are."

Despite his fear, Sweets felt wounded by the accusation and started to defend himself, "But I... I know the book was off base, but I wasn't wrong...."

"Dammit! The book was right. Every... single... word... of it," Booth hissed through a jaw clenched so tightly that it was surprising he could speak at all. His words shocked Sweets back into silence. Booth gave the man a moment to consider the significance of that admission. He waited, realizing that this news was going to knock the man for a loop and that he needed to give him time to let the news sink in so that he'd feel the weight of the situation fully. After watching him think, Booth continued, "Even though you didn't know about the first case or the kissing... you had it right. You were right. About all of it."

Confused, Sweets struggled to figure out what had happened. If he'd been right about everything, Booth shouldn't be angry with him. He should be thanking him. He should be seeking his counsel. He shouldn't be this angry.

Booth knew that the reality of the situation was on the verge of dawning on the younger man, but he wanted the pleasure of mapping the disaster out for him. He wanted his own words to rattle around in Sweets' brain the way that he'd heard that man's words in his own mind for weeks as he had replayed what had happened with his partner until the scene had run on a constant loop in his brain and left acid churning in his gut.

Seeing that he had Sweets' full attention, Booth finally unleashed his fury, "You were right about the damned book, but that stunt you pulled? Pushing me... nagging me... messing with my mind that way in front of Bones? That wasn't therapy. That was a spoiled little brat trying to make things happen so that he could still claim to be right, so that he could prove that he wasn't a fraud. That little speech about the gambling? That was all you. And it was a complete crock of crap. I hadn't gambled in years. I am not a gambler... not anymore. You were being selfish and spoiled. You just wanted to be right. That's when you stopped being our therapist. That's when you stopped being my friend. You sold me out, Sweets. And I'm finished with you. You can't prey on people like that. It's wrong and it's hurtful. You took advantage. You can't get involved and tell people crap just to make you feel better about yourself. You screwed with my head and both of our hearts. I'm disappointed in you. I expected more from you. I thought you were better than that."

Finally exhausted from releasing his anger in that brutally honest tirade to the younger man, Booth stood up wearily and turned to leave the room. His gait had become slower now and revealed more about his exhaustion than his stooped shoulders and pained expression. By the time he got to the door, Sweets had found his voice and started trying desperately to reconnect with the man he admired so much. Sweets felt desperate to understand how terribly he'd failed him. He knew that he had to have been missing something important, but he couldn't quite get his head around it, "But if the book was right, you should talk to her...."

His words trailed off as a shaken Booth looked back toward him taking a long, tense moment before making eye contact with him. Once those dark brown eyes connected with Sweets' own, he could see that they were now deeply troubled. Anguish was visible in every crevice of Booth's face despite his attempt to hide it and the weight of the world sat clearly balanced too heavily upon his shoulders. "Oh my God...," Sweets stammered involuntarily, the reality of what had happened hitting him full force. He could see from the look on Booth's face exactly what had happened. She had turned him down. She had walled up and reinforced the dam. He had nudged Booth to take a step that had shattered the man's heart and risked significant damage to that sacred relationship between the partners.

Swallowing hard and feeling anything but victorious now that he'd ended the battle and given away the proverbial army's most protected secret, the agent pulled the door opened, walked through it quickly, and slammed it behind him.

Sweets sat there with his mouth hanging open and tears still in his eyes as he realized the damage he'd done. Booth was right. He'd been protecting his own ego so staunchly that he encouraged Booth to take a step neither partner might have been ready for. Dr. Brennan clearly had not been ready for such a step. The psychologist's heart ached for the angry man who had just fled his office. He almost wished he actually had hit him. That might have lessened the grief and the concern now plaguing him as he sat alone at the scene of the crime. Normally quick-witted, Sweets couldn't begin to consider what, if anything, he could do to help.

Booth blazed a path from Sweets' office to his own. Once inside, he closed the door and rushed to his chair, spinning it around so that he had been able to face away from anyone who might have been interested in spying on him to see how he was doing. He sat there for a long time trying to regulate his breathing and squelch his anger. Still frustrated, he fished the forms out of his pocket and locked them in his desk drawer. Immersed in his thoughts, he spun his chair back around to give himself some privacy.

_Sweets knows._ While part of him felt happy to realize that the therapist would be torn up realizing the error of his ways, Booth couldn't enjoy dwelling on Sweets' misery. He didn't blame him for what had happened—only for prodding him to act sooner than he would have otherwise. He had no assurance that the result wouldn't have been the same whenever he'd had the guts to reach out to Bones that way. Booth figured the kid would crumble now that he knew the damage he'd done. Booth had been surprised how much sympathy he now felt for the man. He supposed that he really had come to respect and trust him. He had actually become a brilliant therapist when he hadn't been caught up in his own ego. Booth figured he might even rival Gordon Gordon Wyatt someday. He hated to imagine what this blow would do to the kid's confidence. He'd probably quit and change careers or something equally as drastic.

Booth sighed. What now nagged at him loudly were feelings of guilt. He felt that somehow he'd betrayed Bones by letting Sweets know what had happened. He'd have to do something—punch the kid again or threaten him--to make sure that he stayed the hell away from Bones and that he let broken hearts lie in pieces. The last thing Bones needed would be a guilt-ridden shrink playing with her mind and her emotions any more on his account. She'd looked so desperate when she'd asked Booth if they could still work together. Dammit, he had decided that he would use Sweets to make sure that continued to be possible. He'd quit kicking the kid around if he did that for them. He owed them that much.

Some indeterminate time later, the ring of his cell phone pulled Booth out of his thoughts. After checking to make certain that it had not been Sweets calling, Booth took the call. "Agent Booth," he said as loudly as his raging emotions would allow in that moment.

"Yes. Where? And you're almost there? Thanks...."

Booth's heart now hammered in his chest and he had to swallow to tamp down the emotions that were rushing him in that moment. He no longer had time to worry about Sweets. He had more important things to occupy his mind and to spin the acid around in his gut. They had a case. He needed to call Bones. They had case.

_**[A/N: I originally planned to have Booth hit him. Wrote it that way and was going to keep it. I'm not sure whether it was Sweets' adorable baby face or the fact that part of me just didn't want Booth to smack him that made me change it. I almost made it work, but once it was written that way, I just couldn't make peace with the after-effects. Did the near-miss seem effective?**_

_**Sigh… I suppose I've kept Bones out of this long enough. Time to dive in and find the courage to try to explain her thoughts on things!]**_


	4. Chapter 4

_**[A/N: I've never seen the movie with the same title as this chapter, so I hope this bears no resemblance to it. I was originally planning to use this title for the entire story but saw that it had already been used for a number of fanfics. So I opted for the "shorter" version of the title for the entire story. Bones and Booth are both a bit lost at the moment and I'm excited about having them be "lost in translation" and finally working together again. Please let me know what you think of Bones (she scares me for reasons other than the fact that she was crazy enough to turn Booth down). Let me know if I managed to capture the interaction between Bones and Booth well enough in this chapter.**_

_**I don't own Bones or Booth (sadly), and I'm not affiliated with Fox or the TV show in any way. This is just a fun way to spend more time pondering the show.]**_

Chapter Four: Lost in Translation

Temperance Brennan paused in her relentless examination of the bones in Box 2546 when she felt her cell phone buzz in her lab coat pocket. Seeing Booth's name on the screen made her shiver. She hadn't really talked to him in weeks—not since that evening when everything they'd both fought so hard to hide had been thrown out on display to threaten them. Swallowing hard, she answered, "Brennan." She hoped that he couldn't hear from her voice how unsteady she felt taking his unexpected call.

"Hey Bones," Booth said, pausing uncharacteristically before deciding to dive right in to what he needed to tell her. But as he tried to continue speaking, he was struck by the effect that hearing her voice had on him. "I... Um... It's really good to hear your voice," he confessed aloud without meaning to do so. _Jeez, Seeley_, he winced as he realized that being that honest with her now might make things even more awkward than they were already going to be between them. Yet he just hadn't been able to help himself. He'd gotten all choked up just hearing her say her own name. Man, he had it bad.

Moving on quickly so as to minimize her discomfort, he continued in his best, professional FBI manner, "I'm calling to let you know that a call just came in. We have a new case."

The normally unflappable Temperance Brennan paused slightly, considering the fact that she was now on the verge of having to face the man she'd wounded so deeply. She still became teary-eyed every time she remembered how he had shed a few actual tears over his disappointment that she wouldn't give things between them a try. It hadn't been as if he had wept openly, but she knew that years of practice biting back tears under the undeserved blows from his father made it nearly impossible for him to weep. Allowing her to see those few sparse drops of lacrimal fluid he had brushed away quickly had cost him dearly. She hated the fact that she had been the cause of his pain even though he was the last person on the planet she'd ever want to hurt. Now that they had a case, she had to face the damage—examine his wounds in much the same way that she scrutinized remains. Booth was strong, and she knew that he'd survive this, but she also knew that she'd be able to see his discomfort clearly and sense his camouflaged pain. It had been widely acknowledged that she was terrible with people, but she had become adept at reading the subtle things about Booth. Unwilling to admit what that might mean, she asserted that she'd just spent a requisite amount of time with him to be able to predict his moods and understand his actions. She had been the only one persuaded by that argument.

Brennan's momentary pause allowed for a plethora of thoughts about many subjects. Her brilliance allowed her to think so much more quickly than anyone else could begin to understand. Even so, she'd expected to have more time to prepare for this eventuality. Because she had compartmentalized and focused on her work in order to ignore the fact that she'd just turned her back on her partner's most tender, honest plea, she wasn't prepared to face him. She simply did not feel equipped to do this. She was desperate to avoid hurting him further. As she stood there pondering possible options for buying more time, her mind raced through scenarios of greeting him and working with him and hated each of them. Fortunately for her, Booth knew her well enough to read even that miniscule pause and not to comment on it.

"I'll be over in about 20 minutes," Booth said quickly. "I can stop by the Jeffersonian on the way."

"That won't be necessary, Booth," his partner interjected, her voice at a steady yet urgent clip. "I'll need some time to put away these remains in order to store them properly." She told herself that it hadn't been a lie. Booth had no way of knowing that she had been analyzing relatively recent unidentified remains from a randomly selected file drawer from bone storage. He didn't have to know that she wasn't working on ancient remains that required special care and storage and her expert supervision. She could see no harm in misleading him under these difficult circumstances because it had been the only way she could think of to postpone seeing him a bit longer and to avoid spending time in the car with him. Their time traveling together had always been too intimate, too familiar and too often the source of their revealing things that weren't always easy to handle. She had to avoid such a risk for Booth's sake, so she told herself that she was just being a rational, concerned friend. "I can meet you there. Just send me the location. I'll meet you at the scene."

As much as he wanted to argue with her, Booth knew that she'd already made up her mind. He'd try to convince himself that she had been telling him the truth and that this had been no different than the other times they'd driven separate cars to crime scenes. His gut screamed at him that she was avoiding spending time with him. His head told his gut to shut the hell up already. His gut had done enough damage; it had betrayed them both.

"Sure. See you there. Don't forget your boots," he said quietly, clicking off the call knowing that she'd been hanging up already. After e-mailing the location to her, Booth strapped on his weapon and pulled a pair of boots out of a corner cabinet. As he laced them up, he gave himself a pep talk. This would just be Bones working with him and dealing with bones. They'd done this thousands of times. He smiled a wry smile realizing that Bones would have corrected him immediately and then told him precisely how many cases they'd worked together. He knew that she knew. He also knew that he'd stopped counting them ages ago. For Booth, it had been all about the quality and the time with her—that and catching the bad guys. Reminding himself to "man up and grow a set," Booth holstered his weapon, stuffed some gloves and a notepad into his pocket, and left the office for the scene of the crime.

Without explaining the reason for her departure or making the time to discern which of her interns she had been addressing, Dr. Brennan requested that today's intern store the bones she'd been analyzing. She walked purposefully to her office and closed the door. After locating her field kit, slipping on her boots, lacing them up slowly, and placing a packet of gloves in her pocket, Brennan sat down briefly and printed Booth's message. Shortly thereafter, she sent a brief message to Dr. Saroyan that she'd be headed out to a crime scene to help the FBI. It had been only after she had been completely prepared to leave that she paused. In that one, very long moment, she considered what would happen once she arrived at the scene. Unhappy with the way that those thoughts weighed her down, she shook her head, pulled on a jacket appropriate for work outside the lab, and left her office.

On the drive to the scene, Brennan's enormous mind had raced. She hated the fact that she had so many personal things preoccupying her mind. It was always so much simpler to focus on her work, on the remains, on clearing her mind so that she'd be able to solve the murder. Instead, she found herself immersed in a whirlwind of thoughts and feelings and lacking the appropriate system with which to catalogue and deal with them.

Given the fact that she was usually brutally honest and that she did not connect closely enough with most people to have need for it, the feeling of guilt that overpowered her had been asphyxiating. She'd lied to Booth. It hadn't been an enormous lie—yet she felt guilty for misleading him so that she could drive separately and minimize her time with him.

He had sounded so… wistful, relieved, and sad when he'd confessed that it had been good to hear her voice. She understood precisely how he felt because—despite her trepidation—she'd felt those same emotions when she'd taken his call. But the research materials had informed her that, as a spurned suitor, he would be feeling hurt and trying to distance himself for his own self-preservation. Booth had disturbed her by not following the protocol and by being so honest and vulnerable in greeting her despite her rejection of his offer. She wasn't certain she'd be able to deal with Booth trying to pretend that no partnership-altering words had been spoken; she knew with absolute certainty that he'd been berating himself for starting that conversation since it had happened.

Unnerved by being swamped by so many emotions, Temperance arrived at a decision to try to classify her thoughts about Booth in more clinical terms. Perhaps if she thought of facts about him as evidence instead of dwelling on the way that being with him made her feel she'd be able to analyze and deal with the situation more rationally. That was it, she decided, circumstances were making it more and more difficult to be rational about her partnership with Booth. Nothing—nothing except the thought of losing Booth as her partner and friend—terrified Temperance Brennan as much as having difficulty being rational.

As she drove safely but quickly on the route directed by her automobile's GPS system, Temperance Brennan began analyzing the case of the man, the agent, her partner. Booth was a study in both contrasts and absolutes. Anyone who saw him had always been struck by his size and his strength. He was tall and well-built as well as toned and in very good health and condition. She had seen him use his body alone to intimidate smaller, less fit people. She'd also seen the investment of time and determination he put into running, lifting weights, boxing, and practicing at the shooting range. His body was a weapon, and he was its master. She considered that, when combined with his instincts and his experience, his strength made him nearly invincible no matter the opponent. His lithe, toned body enabled him to surprise a criminal by sneaking up on him or charge him loudly and bravely and still take him down. The contrast—the surprising thing she'd come to learn--was that this man of such strength who took such meticulous care to keep his body perfectly primed had—without a moment's hesitation—thrown that very weapon, his own body, in front of a bullet to save her life. The man so hell-bent on saving others thought nothing of risking his own life to save other people. He'd done so more than once for her.

As she made a turn and re-examined the route to estimate her time of arrival, Brennan had been struck by another interesting contradiction about her partner. When she'd first met him, Booth had been extremely demanding, impatient and imposing. He had been too easily frustrated by delays and wanted to advance the cases he worked even if that meant using brute force. He'd also been easily frustrated by distractions and questions and diversions—even if they eventually proved to be the route to solving the case. He still could be all of those things, but she wasn't as frustrated by those attitudes and behaviors as she once had been. Well, she often was; perhaps she was just being sentimental at the moment. As she considered Booth's abrasiveness more carefully, she realized that the original problem had been that Booth did not use Brennan's sacred scientific process. He used a combination of brain and experience and "his gut" to learn from the evidence—that had been "Booth's process." But there were times that he arrived at the solution far more quickly than she had without using the safety and structure of the proven scientific method. At times she had found that frustrating. Other times, she had simply been in awe of his particular form of intelligence.

More times than she had expended the energy to count, she'd been amazed by watching this same man who had been terribly intolerant and abrasive at times cradle a stranger's child as tenderly as its mother would have or lift a victim—especially when it was her--up to handle so delicately that it brought tears to her eyes. He instinctively knew the times when she needed a "guy hug" and he was extremely patient with her questions about life and love and friendship. She'd expected him to tire of those discussions or to tell her to go live her life and learn from the experience like everyone else did, but he never did. He seemed to relish the role of her interpreter—her translator, and he was ever watchful, ever protective, ever there waiting patiently for her to arrive at conclusions about people and their behaviors. His patience at those times was even more remarkable because he had always long-since diagnosed those conditions she was pondering and understood them. He was able to understand people and relationships quickly as she could decipher marks left on her beloved bones. The fact that he could have such a short fuse and yet be endlessly patient with her was worth noting.

Another contradiction about Booth was his insistence upon downplaying his intelligence. While his IQ was certainly lower than her own, his "street smarts" and intuition about people more than compensated for that fact. His life experience had taught him things he'd never have learned from a book, and Brennan had watched him over time and observed that he learned very quickly—more quickly than a few of her comrades at the lab. The combination of innate and learned abilities called for her to deem Booth extremely intelligent. But she knew better than to state that openly to him. He fell so naturally into the self-deprecating role of "dumb jock" needing someone to explain things to him. At times it infuriated Brennan because he wasn't above using that tactic with his superiors, and she knew that doing so weakened their impression of him and his abilities. At other times, she knew it was just force of habit. She herself had confessed more than she'd intended in the face of that handsome man shrugging and acting as if he were confused. She knew that many women—and more than a few men—had been fooled by his practiced technique. On other occasions, she had known that he had purposefully appeared muddled and confused to ease her own pain over how she'd misread a situation or a criminal—or a man she never should have dated. As she considered this trait of her partner's, Temperance was struck with the realization that it was both a contradiction and constant. He willingly sacrificed his own ego and people's perceptions of him to solve cases and to make others feel better without regard for the view others had of him. It was eerily similar to his penchant for throwing himself in harm's way to save others.

Another contradiction Brennan seldom pondered for long stretches of time was a physical one. She had admitted her attraction to him to Angela early on and had joined in the general female adoration of his form on more than one occasion. The man was a god—strong, handsome, fit, and constantly active—and his charm and wits completed the package beautifully. Brennan had witnessed and experienced his physical strength and stamina, so she could only logically assume that he carried those strengths into his physical relationships with women. She almost hated the way that it took no effort at all for her to imagine his naked form hovering, touching, tasting…. She'd felt his tender touch and his strong grip on many occasions--she didn't need any other evidence to convince her that he'd be an incredible lover. She sighed internally with the knowledge that she'd been whisper-close to benefitting from those particular talents.

Realizing that thinking of missed opportunities wistfully could not be considered rational or beneficial, she made her body quiet down and considered other attributes that made the man attractive in other ways. Booth's "white knight syndrome" made him incredibly overprotective, and he had proven his ability to watch over and care for his friends and family. She could also only assume that he'd make a doting companion for any woman with whom he chose to spend his private time. Brennan made note of the way that her own blood pressure had vaulted as she'd again considered Booth's appearance and his overwhelmingly suitable skills as a lover and companion. She knew that it was extremely logical for her to think of sex when considering his body; any woman who saw him considered the possibility—if she were heterosexual and not his mother. Despite that fact, thinking of a relationship with Booth wasn't rational. She'd turned down his offer; therefore, considering options no longer viable was anything but rational.

Refusing to let thoughts of Booth as either a sex partner or a companion take hold, she focused on analyzing another contradiction that had brought on this whole train of thought. The man was ridiculously shy talking about sex or sexually-related matters. She suspected that it might be his Catholic upbringing, but she knew that it was more than that. Booth was so much more a "girl" about these issues. She chuckled realizing how opposed he'd be to that description. So she chose another route and considered that his views on dating and relationships and sex were simply old-fashioned. Perhaps he'd have fit in well in the 50s... he did love those old movies with their chivalrous heroes who always made romantic gestures and always got the girl. She had to admit that his hesitance to discuss overtly sexual subjects only made him more appealing. Seeing that beautifully built man blush had always been more a turn on than a problem. Pausing to wonder momentarily whether she'd feel more terrible if he never found "the girl" or if he found her and moved on, Temperance felt her nerves place a chokehold on her stomach. She had to stop thinking about Booth and their conversation and its consequences. She had to compartmentalize if she were going to survive this day.

To dull the ache in her body and the pain in her "gut," Temperance put another critical facet of Booth onto her mental examining room table. Booth was a man of action. He hardly ever sat still. He was constantly flipping a poker chip or pacing as he thought, or tapping his hands in that annoyingly loud way on the steering wheel of the car he demanded to drive. The only times he had been moderately still for more than a few moments had been when he'd been seriously wounded or when he had been talking to her about something important.

Booth was decisive and thought quickly on his feet and did more that she suspected was typical of agents to move their cases to closure quickly. As she had tried to reconcile their discussion about Sweets' conclusion about them over the last few weeks, it had bothered her that Booth had admitted that Sweets had been right. While on the surface Booth's confession that he wanted to try dating her at first seemed like a typical Booth way of taking action when he felt it was needed, she had been more struck by the fact that he'd had feelings for her and kept them hidden—perhaps the entire time she'd known him. Booth keeping something that important from her for so long just didn't fit his profile. From listening to him, she had the strong impression that he'd proposed to Rebecca immediately after learning that she'd become pregnant. The fact that he'd practically been living with Tessa showed yet another example that he wasn't a man with commitment issues, and yet he'd moved on from their relationship abruptly once it had run its course. Another decisive step. He and Dr. Saroyan had fallen quickly back into bed together and ended their fling just as quickly. She knew that Booth had been the one to call it off.

Where women were concerned, Booth took action. It didn't fit with Booth's nature for him to have had feelings for her and to have kept them hidden. She tried to rationalize his actions. Perhaps she was too difficult and demanding. Perhaps she was stunted by her life's experience and her intellect. Perhaps he—like her—was overwhelmed by a need to protect their partnership. Or perhaps he never meant to have that conversation with her at all. Perhaps he had just been momentarily dazed by Sweets' psychobabble and acted impulsively out of a sense of loneliness or concern for her or something. Or perhaps she'd just been too great a gamble—the big prize that wasn't good for him or meant for him but which was tempting for fleeting reasons related to his gambling habit. Whatever the reason, she couldn't make peace with the concept that he'd had feelings for her for so long. Booth would have acted sooner. He had passed on all of those times when their eyes had met and their faces had gravitated closer together… all those times when the air between them had crackled with electricity and she'd had to resist the urge to lick her lips—or his. He'd had many opportunities, many of which had taken her breath away and made her long for the courage to lean closer and capture his lips with her own. Booth's history on the subject had been clear and convincing. He'd have closed the distance between them long ago if he'd been sure enough that she had been worth the risk.

Temperance groaned aloud in her frustration. She should have known better than to try to analyze Booth. She was obviously impaired and could no longer just think about him objectively. The practice of analyzing a man who was so multidimensional was too near psychology—a field she abhorred now more than ever. Instead of doing the rational thing and thinking about the case or calming herself down for the encounter with Booth, she'd spent nearly an hour thinking about all of the reasons that anyone other than herself would have jumped at the chance to date the man. She smirked imagining what Dr. Sweets would have to say about that.

Thinking about Booth's body and his mind and his bravery had been the type of action a love-sick, swooning female would have taken. Temperance Brennan knew that she was not that type of woman. She'd already made her decision and now she had to deal with it effectively in order not to hurt her partner's feelings any further. She had to focus on the goal, accomplish it, and move on. She had to be a scientist—not a woman whose mind was obsessed with any man—while she worked. Grumbling quietly, she made the last turn and noted the short distance remaining to the scene. She began the process of erecting walls around herself and steeling herself for seeing her partner for the first time since she'd turned down his offer. She could do this. She was a genius. She could do anything. Besides, Booth was predictable and professional and did not appear to hold grudges unnecessarily. He'd be calm and collected and all business—he was as obsessed with doing his job well as she was. He'd also be trying to make this easier for himself, so it would be easier for both of them.

When Temperance parked her car at the murder scene, her attention was drawn as if magnetically to her partner. She'd expected to feel a twinge, some chemical reaction as she looked at him and read what she was convinced would be his barely camouflaged pain. Instead, she noticed immediately that he was angry. He was more than just angry. Pulling her bag out quickly behind her, she jogged up the path toward his tense, well-muscled body. She was too distracted to comprehend the fact that her instant urge to assist him or calm him down meant that Booth wasn't the only one of the partners with no control over the desire to protect the other from pain no matter the cost. Brennan had forgotten all of her reasons for wanting to avoid him the moment she'd seen that he'd been upset.

"This just won't cut it, Mikulski. What the hell were you thinking?! We don't have all day here. You're paid to do your job, and this…. This is not what you're paid to do. Do I need to talk to someone? Call the head of your department? You have three kids, man. Don't they need food and clothes? I'd hate for them to go without because their father was lazy and lost his job! Dr. Brennan has made is perfectly clear what should be done to prep the scene, and you haven't done any of it!"

As he ranted at the technician more loudly and angrily than he should have Booth realized that he was just blowing off steam and trying to calm himself down. But he'd gotten carried away, dammit, and the yelling felt good. He was so caught up in his verbal assault on the man that he had ignored the attempts of another FBI squint to get his attention. What the hell… the person was dead already. Whatever it was could wait.

But when that squint made the mistake of grabbing his arm, Booth had no choice but to turn and transfer his now simmering rage onto the next squint. Fine. He could do that. "What?!" he barked, only to have his oxygen supply cut entirely off as he looked straight into the startled eyes of his partner. He was moved by the concern he could read in her expression. "Oh... Sorry Bones...," he trailed off.

"Why are you yelling? What is the problem?" she asked, her ever inquiring mind needing to know even as he read her concern for him evident in her expression.

"Our genius friend Mikulski here hasn't done a damned thing to set up the scene for you. I... um... I was just reminding him how important it is for him to set everything up. You know, the way that you've requested."

"I appreciate your concern, but don't worry about it, Booth. I can handle this," she said, holding his gaze for only a moment before moving past him to examine the remains.

Now that she'd deflated his anger and left him realizing what an ass he'd been to Mikulski, Booth found himself at loose ends. He'd learned a lot, but there were certain squintish things that he didn't even want to understand. He guessed that it would take at least half an hour before Bones would have anything helpful for him. Frowning, he turned to search the park for the detective who'd called him.

"Parsons, where's the man who discovered the victims?!" Booth yelled, following the man down the hill so that he could question the person who'd stumbled across the remains.

As she observed the remains and their environs, Temperance realized why the technicians had waited for her to arrive. There was an opaque gelatinous substance covering aspects of the remains, making it nearly impossible to determine how to retrieve the bones without damaging them or losing substantial portions of the substance.

As she surveyed the scene, Mikulski immediately apologized. The man was no idiot. He'd seen Brennan verbally shred other technicians. His beat down from Booth had been awful enough. No way had the man wanted another smack down from the perfectionist in the partnership.

Brennan cut the man off before he could continue his apology. "It was appropriate for you to wait for my guidance, Mikulski. Do you have any suggestions for how best we can transport the remains and the unidentified substance back to the lab?"

Surprised and greatly relieved, the man offered a few suggestions. Then, he began working with Dr. Brennan to plan to have the remains moved.

As they were discussing the plans for lifting an enormous block of earth approximately five feet deep from the scene, Booth wandered over and peered over their shoulders. He made a face as he took in the gory scene below them. The scientists paused as Booth surveyed the scene. They all looked down at the array of bodies for a long moment. Then Booth asked Bones for her observations about the remains.

"Two adults—one male, one female. The male is in a prone position on top of the female...."

"Oh... Well, it's obvious what happened," Booth insisted.

"I was still trying to explain...."

"Come on, Bones. Jealous husbands and wives lose their minds when they stumble upon things like this."

Bones interrupted his train of thought. "The evidence doesn't begin to point to jealousy of any kind. I'm afraid you're making assumptions not supported by the evidence."

Although relieved that she was responding him in such a familiar way, Booth is nonplussed by her statement and gestured toward the crime scene, "What? They're lying like that...," he paused, gesturing dramatically and quickly becoming awkward trying to avoid discussing sex with her as he had so many times before. He paused again, trying to rid his brain of the ridiculous gesture Bones had used to try to tell him the undertaker and Hank Reilly's wife had been having sex at the wake. Finally able to compose himself, Booth continued to insinuate that the couple had been "going at it" when they had died, "Look.... It looks like he's whispering in her ear. They're...." He paused dramatically, tilted his head a bit to the side and raised his eyebrows and nodded his head slightly before whispering, "You know...." As she looked up at him over her shoulder the way she had dozens of times before, the air whooshed out of Seeley's lungs, and he had difficulty remembering that he'd been arguing with her. He stood there frozen as his mind and heart drank in the view of her. All he had been able to ponder for that moment in time was that he'd like more than anything to be somewhere private with her doing exactly what he knew these two people had been doing when they died. For a moment, Brennan had also been swept up in his gaze and the two considered each other and said nothing. Then, as quickly as the spell had been cast, Brennan broke it, finally catching on to Booth's train of thought.

"Oh!" she said with enthusiasm as she realized that she understood what he'd been implying, "You suspect that the victims were kicking shoes at one another!"

Booth had been smiling at her as she thought about what he'd said. He had been hoping that they'd reconnect—that she'd understand what he had been trying to tell her without saying the precise words. He needed to be able to communicate like that with her again. _Kicking shoes? What the hell…_ he thought before he realized what she'd said, "What?!" But then he smiled at her and shook his head in amusement, "It's boots, Bones. Knocking boots."

She was so relieved that this situation felt so familiar that she didn't waste her time being embarrassed that he'd had to correct her. Instead, she continued as she so often had in the past, "I've never understood that expression. I prefer to take my shoes (or boots) off before intercourse. Don't you? I find that it's more sanitary as well as more comfortable while simultaneously giving one better access to the highly erogenous zones around the metatarsals and phalanges. And it seems highly unlikely that anyone would be fixated on the knocking together of their footwear during that activity. Knocking jeans or bumping boxers or undergarments would be a more apt clothing analogy, wouldn't you agree?"

Nonplussed, Booth chuckled and nodded his agreement as said a Hail Mary and recited the names of the saints to clear his mind of the images that had entered it as soon as Bones had said "erogenous zones." Did she have to talk about sex with him right off the bat like that? It was Bones. Of course, she did. "So, you guys have a plan for moving the remains to the lab?" he asked, hoping that he sounded "normal" and not entirely in need of a cold shower.

"Yes. Mick offered a very sound approach," Brennan explained, pleased when she saw Booth look up to acknowledge her proper use of the technician's nickname. Booth nodded at Mikulski and then turned to talk to Bones some more. But at that very moment, another one of the technicians slipped. In an attempt to avoid crashing on top of the remains with his heavy kit, he unintentionally crashed into the forensic anthropologist. Booth managed to catch her just before she lost her balance.

There had been no other option but to grasp her body and pull it tightly to his own. In his haste to save her, he'd slammed her firm body against his, aching with the way that it fit perfectly against his own. Booth tried to breathe as his body screamed from its proximity to her. Her face was flushed and her chest was heaving, and Booth knew that the accident wasn't the only source of those physical reactions. Overcoming the urge to pull her even closer and devour her lips with his own until she was powerless to refuse him any longer, Booth managed to help her regain her footing and took a step back for his own safety.

"Watch where you're going Larkins," Booth snapped even as the man was apologizing to his partner. Off kilter, Booth blurted out, "If you're okay, Bones, I'm just gonna go check on a few leads. Let me know if you find anything else."

As Bones turned around and started talking to the team, Booth walked closer to Mikulski and pulled him aside. "Hey, about earlier, man.... I'm sorry. Are we okay?"

"Don't sweat it, Booth," the man replied, extending his hand warmly.

"You're a good man, Mick," Booth said with a smile.

"Rough morning?" Mikulski couldn't help asking.

"Yeah. Sorry I brought it with me," Booth admitted. "Looks like you've done good work today."

"I always do good work," Mick jabbed back, teasing the agent to diffuse the tension.

"That's what all the dead guys say," Booth replied, grinning as he turned to leave them to their work.

Half an hour later, Booth had completed every single task he could dream up out at the scene. He'd even checked his messages and returned a few calls. He knew that he needed to leave Bones alone with the remains, but waiting gave him too much time to think. After wandering aimlessly for too long, he finally wandered back to where the cars were parked. Lost in thought, he leaned against the hood of Bones' car and watched them work. _God, she's gorgeous_, he thought as he watched her work and tried not to notice the way that all of the live men were drooling over her even as they worked carefully not to upset her. Watching her from a distance was painful. It just made him miss her more. Experienced in surveillance, Booth made sure to turn his attention to other things to hide the fact that he was staring holes through his sunglasses as he watched his partner work. He fished out his notepad and pretended to write notes. Holding onto Bones even that briefly had rattled him. He knew that he had to calm the hell down if he were going to stay there and work with her. As with so many things, knowing what he should do and actually doing it were two entirely different things.

Booth had been mentally reclassifying the names of old cases into FBI-speak and had finally become so lost in thought that he hadn't heard her approach. The fact that he had missed it must have been a divinely inspired event. Booth didn't miss things like that. He was always hyper-aware of his environment and keenly attuned to people approaching him. Years of practice as an abused child and a sniper and soldier had made those skills second nature to him. And he'd always sensed Bones presence more than most. He couldn't believe he'd missed her approach.

"They're extracting the remains now," Bones said casually, eyeing her partner carefully. She knew that his notebook was full of scribbles or nothing at all. He'd been faking those notes all afternoon. She worried that this had been too difficult for him.

"Mhmmm," he replied just as casually, afraid that if he said anything more that he'd beg her to reconsider his request that she try going out with him.

"I hate that things are awkward," Bones confessed, her eyes darting to his to see if her words had stung.

"Things are fine."

"You're okay?" she had to ask him.

He swallowed hard but tried to hide both his lie and the strain of delivering it, "I'm okay."

Upon hearing his response, Bones smiled a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes before moving and leaning against the car right beside him, so close that their shoulders were almost touching.

"Good. I was worried, Booth. I was afraid that we'd be unable to work together. Thank you."

Unable to help himself from smiling back at her earnest expression, Booth replied, "We're partners, Bones. It's what we do."

There was a long pause as both of them considered their partnership and appreciated it anew.

"How's Parker?" Brennan asked, hoping to steer the conversation to typical topics, safer ones.

"Parker's great," Booth replied instantly. Then he stood thinking for a few minutes before he confessed, "He misses you."

"He said that?" she asked, honored that Booth's son might have noticed her absence.

"Yes. Quite loudly," Booth chuckled, remembering his son's recent hysterics about calling Bones.

Bones paused for a long moment as she looked away from him. He hadn't anticipated her emotional reaction. His heart panged with need to ease her pain. She sniffed and whispered, "I miss him, too."

_Dammit_, thought Booth, they couldn't keep doing this…. They were wounding one another left and right just by trying too hard to behave as if nothing had changed. He had to say something, so he uttered her name to get her attention. This time his "Bones" came out more wistful and supportive than he'd intended.

Brennan nearly came unglued at his selfless attempt to comfort her given the circumstances, "Don't 'Bones' me. It's a logical, rational reaction. Anthropology tells us that people are more comfortable following norms and routines. I've spent more time with him than anyone else's child. I suppose that it's only natural that I've formed a bond with him."

Her scientific explanation for her sniffling made Booth smile and diffused the tension a bit, "He's crazy about you, too, Bones." _So crazy that he drove me insane demanding to call you the other day, _he thought but didn't dare say aloud. "You don't have to justify your friendship with my kid. He's irresistible—like his old man."

He'd expected his words to encourage Bones to start harassing him, but she surprised him by staring up at him intently for a long moment before whispering, "You're still you."

Booth couldn't take those looks... her guilt... He needed to do something to take their conversation somewhere safer. So instead of allowing himself to get all mushy, he looked at her funny. "Did Larkins bump your head, Bones? It's not like you to be so girly about things."

Instead of being angry with him, Temperance became even more emotional, "I'm being serious, Booth. I... I was concerned that you might be different, act unusually...." She teared up involuntarily. "I was anxious. I... don't do well with people, and I thought that I might make this too hard for you... so that you wouldn't want to work with me anymore...."

Booth sighed. Here she was again, showing her concern for someone else even though it brought her pain. He had to reassure her, "Bones, I still want to work with you." _I want to do everything with you_, his mind screamed_._ "You're right. I'm still me."

"You are," she echoed, sounding almost convinced that it was true.

Now it was Booth's turn to be attacked by his own emotions. "Yes. Bones, do you think... can we talk about this later. Somewhere else?"

She squinted at him and shrugged and she sniffed back her tears, "I don't see why. You seem to be handling it admirably. I'm the one who's obviously emotional."

"If you keep getting emotional like that, I'm either going to have to hug you or start shoving Mick around again. And these are _**my**_ coworkers, Bones. We could talk about this out on the platform at the lab, if you'd be comfortable trying that later."

"No. I understand. You made your point."

"That's good because I am extremely rational," Booth said in his best impression of Bones.

She smiled at him and nudged him with her elbow.

He returned the jab, and the pair stood there in silence, their arms touching as they enjoyed the private moment alone together.

The sound of someone clearing his throat caused both of them to lurch apart as if they'd been caught doing something inappropriate, "Dr. Brennan, I think you're going to want to see this," Mick said, sincerity in his expression as he looked at hers and then apology in his glance to Booth. Without another word, Bones shoved off the car and made her way over to the remains without looking back. For the second time that day, Booth felt like using Mikulski as his personal punching bag, but when he made his own way up to the site, he realized that Mick had just been being professional.

"What is it, Bones?" Booth asked as he stood looking down at where she was moving things around at the scene.

"A third set of remains. Much more badly damaged and then burned. Placed in a standard outdoor garbage bag at the other victims' feet."

"Jeez...," was all that Booth could come up with.

As they worked on the newly discovered remains, Mikulski was surprised to find that Dr. Brennan was distracted. She'd never—not in all the years he'd worked with her—had anything pry her full attention from a set of remains. He watched in quiet amazement as she seemed to be lost in thought much of the time. Unaccustomed to working in anything but her shadow, Mick quietly took the lead and said nothing about it. He even saw her glance over her shoulder several times to look for and gaze upon Agent Booth. As he helped her ensure that they weren't corrupting the remains with the way they were being extracted, he pondered what might have happened between the partners. Booth had clearly been off his game all day. When he'd run over to talk to them earlier, he'd clearly interrupted a private moment between the two of them. Sadly, he was certain that they weren't dating—that wasn't the type of emotion that both of them seemed determined to hide yet unable to camouflage. Once, when Dr. Brennan looked back down after glancing over her shoulder, he swore that he saw her swipe her forearm as if to hide a falling tear. Wishing that it had been his place or that he had been brave enough to approach either of them about what was troubling them, Mikulski focused on the task at hand. At least he could make the case easier for both of them. He felt like doing whatever he could to take some of the burden off them.

After their work at the scene was finished, Booth walked Bones to her car and stood there awkwardly for a long moment.

Ripping off her gloves and taking off her outer layer of protective gear, Bones placed those items into a bag and handed it to one of the technicians. She paused, and, realizing that it was completely irrational, wished that she could rewind the clock to the time when her relationship with Booth had been smooth and easy. Realizing that the burden of making this easier fell on her shoulders, she spoke quietly.

"Are you coming back to the lab?" she asked, almost afraid to hear his response.

"I'll drop by in the morning," he said with a tilt of his head.

"Good. That's good," she replied. She was amazed by how emotional such simple words could now make her. She'd been afraid that he'd avoid the lab completely—that time spent with her would be too difficult for him.

Torn by the emotion he read so plainly on her face, Booth opted to bolt rather than drag them back down into that pit of turmoil again. "I'll see you then," he said quietly, walking past her to his truck and climbing in. His heart panged as she turned and waved a small wave at him before climbing into her car to head back to the city.

On the long drive back along the beltway, Booth reviewed the day's events carefully. He was relieved that he'd been able to do it—that he'd been able to handle being with Bones knowing that he wasn't ever going to be able to actually be with Bones. It had been hard as hell, and he had bungled more of it than he'd gotten right, but they'd survived. He sighed… it would get easier in time. _Right? Didn't it have to?_

As he was driving and thinking, his phone rang. Happy for the distraction, he picked it up without checking the caller ID.

"Hi," her voice said tentatively.

"Bones? You okay?" he asked, his protective instincts kicking into overdrive.

"I'm fine, Booth. I... I just wanted to call to tell you that I... I enjoyed working with you today," she stammered, her obvious strain pulling on his heartstrings. The woman was going to drive him mad. He wanted to tell her they didn't have to talk about this, but she seemed to need to discuss it. And, as always, he couldn't deny his Bones whatever she needed. Taking a deep breath for courage, he dove in, "Yeah. Me, too. I was glad we had a case we could work together. It had been a while."

"It had. Booth, I apologize if I made today difficult for you," she stated firmly.

"You didn't."

"I... I'm just so relieved that we can still work together," she confessed, the strain evident in her tone.

"It's okay, Bones. We're partners. We'll figure it out."

"Promise?" she asked, her plea as desperate as the one she'd made that night outside Sweets' office.

"Promise." He paused. "Hey, Bones. Are you okay?" Maybe she'd talk to him about what was making this so difficult. It was obvious that she was more upset than she wanted him to know.

"I know that I'm not good with people, but I believe that traditional roles would dictate that I be the one who should be asking you that question, Booth. Are you... Are you okay?"

"I'll be fine, Bones. I'm a big tough guy, remember? You don't have to worry about me."

"But I do... I... I have always been concerned for your well being."

He smiled. Bones sure did have a way with words. He'd long since learned how to understand the difference between the words she uttered and what they meant, "Well, don't be. I'm fine."

There was a long pause.

"I owe you an apology, Booth." _Dammit! _This was too much. He simply had to stop her. This was killing him. He wasn't going to be able to deal with this—not without crashing his SUV into the nearest tree.

"Bones, please don't... Let's don't keep doing this, OK? It'll be fine, but we can't keep talking like this. I'm tough, but I'm not invincible," he pled with her.

"I'm not talking about turning down your offer, Booth. I can't apologize for that because I was honest with you. But I do owe you an apology about today."

"Today? You didn't do anything wrong today," he blurted out as he tried to understand what she was talking about.

"I lied to you," she confessed, fearing that he might be really angry.

"When? About the case?" he asked, having no clue what was going on.

Bones rushed her explanation. She simply had to "become clean" with him. "About the remains I was examining this morning when you called. I didn't need time to store them. They were just bones from limbo. I… I was avoiding you. And I'm sorry."

He smiled, hating the way that she could make him melt without even trying. "It's okay, Bones. I was scared as hell this morning, too."

"I told myself I was protecting you, but I wasn't. I... I was anxious about spending time with you, but I also... I don't want to do anything else to hurt you, Booth."

"Friends sometimes hurt each other, Bones. But friendships like ours survive it. Thanks for being honest with me, though. "

"I want... no, I need to be able to tell you the truth even when it's difficult... I've come to realize that I rely on you for more than just partnership, Booth. You are my friend. I'm accustomed to sharing things with you, arguing with you...."

"Me, too," he sighed in a lower voice.

Encouraged by the way the conversation had gone, Brennan continued bravely, "I... Not being able to work with you would be like losing a partner and a friend... a very good friend."

As he had so many times before, Booth had no trouble reassuring her about that critical issue, "You're not gonna lose me, Bones."

"But if I make it too hard for you... if you can't work with me...."

"There's an expression, Bones... It says that friends are the family we choose. You're my family, Bones. I've promised you before that I won't leave you. And I won't. No matter what happens. I promise."

"But if spending time with me brings you pain, I'm being selfish keeping you with me if it hurts you."

He was impressed with the degree to which she'd thought about this. He'd expected that she'd just flung herself into the lab and forgotten all about what had happened between them. Bones had obviously grown more than he'd realized, "Staying away from you would hurt more. You're my family, too, Bones. We'll get through this."

Booth heard her sniffling and wiped a tear or two. He raged at himself for being so easily moved to tears by her and for her. She cut through his barriers and affected him as nobody else could.

"Bones?"

"Yes?" she asked tentatively.

"Go on inside. It's getting late."

"But I...," she stammered, confused by his words. "How? How did you know?"

"Turn around," Booth said softly, watching as the scientist whipped her head around quickly and noticed that he had parked about three spots behind her on the street outside her apartment building. They'd both been sitting there for quite a long time at this point; neither of them had wanted to stop talking even though they'd returned to the city and Bones was just steps from her home. They'd been so focused on talking that they'd just sat there long after it had been necessary.

Moved by his presence, Brennan smiled and waved at him, "Thanks, Booth."

In typical Booth fashion, he shrugged off her gratitude, "You're my family, Bones. I had to make sure that you got home safely."

As she exited her car and crossed to the door of her apartment building, Temperance continued talking to Booth. She knew that he wouldn't pull into traffic until he assured himself that she was safely inside, "Will you... Should I come by your office tomorrow to talk about the case?"

"No, I'll come by the lab."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" she asked, her concern for him continuing to twist her own gut and compel her to discuss their current awkwardness.

He smiled, relieved that even in the face of difficult situations, they could still be friends, "No, but you'll be there. Drag me out if I cause a scene."

"Angela doesn't know. No one else knows."

"Thanks, Bones."

"Goodnight, Booth. See you tomorrow."

"Night, Bones," he said, hating the way that some things felt as if they hadn't changed while others seemed overwhelmingly different. Exhausted but relieved to know that he could still work with his partner, the FBI agent drove home and fell asleep soundly for the first time in weeks.

_**[A/N: Please let me know what you think. I love comments!]**_


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five: Greater Love Has No One Than This....

After waking up early with his brain crammed full of thoughts of what lay ahead, Booth had finished his morning workout with a knot in the pit of his stomach. Despite the extra time he had put in, the knot had still been there as he still got an early start on the day. The FBI agent swaggered into the lab with what he hoped had been the usual bounce in his step. He wanted to look "normal," and he wasn't above bribing people to make his case. He'd brought food for the whole squint army—donuts by the dozen, coffee or tea made to order for each and every member of the team. As the whole crew except for Bones circled 'round and began to pick apart the provisions, Booth tried valiantly to shrug off the greetings and questions about his long absence. Despite his intention to bolt from the group quickly for the relative safety of Bones' office, Booth found himself engrossed in catching up with everyone. Having seen more of Booth lately than the rest of the team, Wendell had said a few words about how Booth's work on the ice was helping the hockey team compete for the championship. Then Wendell had snagged Bones' tea—and Booth's excuse for escaping—and rushed back to his work on the platform.

Everyone else stayed close and regaled Booth with stories of recent events while also pumping him for information about where he'd been and what he'd been doing. Apparently, they'd missed him, and he had to admit that he'd missed all of them, too. Booth should have been horrified to find Hodgins' latest "bug" story so amusing, but he was laughing too hard to realize how weird that actually was. When Hodgins eventually departed to gaze upon insects only he understood, Booth started becoming uncomfortable being alone with both Cam and Angela. He felt his pulse race as Angela eyed him carefully and suspected something. He tried not to exhale loudly when she walked away without a word. Sensing his relief, Cam said quietly, "You can breathe now, Seeley. You passed the test. Nobody knows."

"What?!" he squawked--not that he'd ever admit that he squawked about anything, ever.

Dr. Saroyan just looked at him in amusement and smiled, "I know you, remember? I can tell that you're a wreck. But you have it together on the outside. Whatever you did to make you afraid to face Dr. Brennan this time must have been huge. But I think you pulled off the act. Nobody else aside from Angela seems to suspect anything. So breathe already. And remember that you can find me if you need to talk or if you need rescuing."

Booth cleared his throat as if he planned to disagree and then thought better of it. No need to look a gift horse in the mouth. Cam was letting him off the hook. "Thanks, Cam." With a sympathetic look back at him over her shoulder Cam walked back toward her office. At times like this, Booth was grateful that they knew one another so well and that Cam had the decency not to pry. Hopeful that he'd manage the rest of his visit to the lab as smoothly as the first part, Booth walked purposefully to the platform, took a deep breath without appearing to do so, ran his card through the scanner, and sprinted up the steps to see his partner.

As he barked out, "Hey, Bones," his partner whirled nervously and stepped in his direction, nearly colliding with him as they ended up face-to-face at very close range.

She'd had to stop herself forcefully to prevent inertia from ramming her body into his. She looked up to make eye contact with him slowly--the closer their bodies had moved toward one another, the less air there had been to breathe for either of them. There had been one of those slow motion-type pauses, one of those screamingly loud silences as they gazed at one another from too close a distance. Nobody took a breath or moved at all. It had been as if time were suspended.

Booth had been the one to back away from the intense stare-down first, "So, Bones, did Wendell bring your tea over?" he asked, knowing the answer but needing something "normal" to say to her.

"Yes. Thank you," she said, turning back to the remains on the platform, needing to immerse herself in thoughts of her work instead of the familiar scent of Booth's aftershave and fresh close range images of the angles and planes of his overly attractive, clean shaven face.

"So...," Booth said enthusiastically, rubbing his hands together and then clapping them loudly. "Speak to me, squints. What do we have?"

"See this mucoid substance spread around the male remains?" Brennan asked, motioning toward the substance she was discussing. Booth wrinkled his nose upon seeing it and then focused his attention on her where it belonged. Brennan resumed her explanation, "We thought this was a foreign substance, but it's not. This substance is located along most of the major joints of the victim's body. He suffered from an advanced case of Myxoid degeneration."

"So what is this Mick's degeneration--what does it mean?"

"Myxoid degeneration—not Mick's—results when the connective tissues such as tendons break down and are replaced by an opaque mucoid matter. This victim suffered from arthritis or another degenerative condition. We're still analyzing the body."

"So his joints turned to... jelly?"

"Yes, I suppose that's an apt description."

"How about the other two victims... Do they have jellified joints, too?"

Brennan squinted at Booth in frustration in that way that drove him literally crazy. He'd said that in a silly way to diffuse the tension on the platform. He'd pay good money for a way to keep that look on her face permanently, "No, they do not show indications of myxoid degeneration. Myxoid degeneration is not contagious, Booth. Only one of the victims had been suffering from that particularly painful condition."

"Okay, tell me something about the other two victims. Do you know cause of death yet?"

"The male with myxoid degeneration and the female buried beneath him both have gunshot wounds. Hodgins is looking for particulates and Angela is analyzing scenarios to see if we can use them to identify how they were shot and postulate the cause of death for them."

"How about the bagman?"

"Bagman? I don't understand what that means."

"The man in the bag. The third victim. What do we know about him?"

"Appears to be an adolescent or young adult. That set of remains was likely transported from another location, and the victim was burned before being put into the bag. Given the level of decomp and the adherence of melted plastic to the remains, we're going to need more time to establish cause of death."

"Good. That's great. Keep up the good work, Bones. How long do you think you'll need—a day or two?"

"Booth, I can't possibly estimate how long it will take us to complete our analysis."

"Guess."

"I don't guess. You want me to hypothesize? Postulate? Estimate? Fine. Four to five days."

"Five days! It never takes you that long when you know this much by now!"

"Science cannot be put onto an FBI case schedule, Booth."

"Are you trying to tick me off?"

"Of course not," she lied.

Booth opened and closed his mouth a few times, each time changing the argument he had planned to start with his partner. If he thought more about it, he'd have realized that Bones had been just pushing his own buttons in order to pay him back for trying to annoy her earlier. Fortunately for both of them, Hodgins and Wendell rushed onto the platform claiming that they were "kings" of the lab.

"We found...," Hodgins began, but Wendell cut him off.

"**_I_** found pieces of metal on the female remains. Hodgins and I were able to reassemble them to determine what the broken object was."

"Extra credit for the squints," Booth barked. "What was it?"

"A badge," Hodgins interrupted again, smirking at Wendell because of the maneuver.

"Badge? Law enforcement?"

"Yeah, baby. Baltimore County. Badge number 15684."

"Thanks," Booth said quietly, turning and rushing from the platform.

"What? No 'Kings of the Lab,' no pats on the back, no 'thanks, guys?'" Hodgins yelled after him.

"A cop's been murdered, Jack. A little decorum would be nice," Booth said before leaving the lab. Hodgins shrugged and nodded and he and Wendell left to examine the rest of the evidence for more clues.

Booth called Bones later and left a message explaining that the remains were Lieutenant Shannon Forster. Booth shipped over her file and the medical records. The squints confirmed her identity and established that the other body was that of her husband, Robert. The couple had been reported missing seven years earlier.

After exchanging a series of e-mails and voicemail messages, Booth finally sent Bones a text message to tell her that he'll call her when they brought the family in to brief and to question.

Later that afternoon, Booth called and interrupted Bones' work. She seemed distracted, and he could tell that she hadn't been listening to him closely. In truth, she had been frustrated that he'd calling instead of coming over to the lab. For years when they had reached this point in a case, Booth had rushed over to talk to her personally about what their next move might be. He had always come no matter the state of their partnership or the urgency of whatever else either of them had been working on. She could tell that he had been avoiding the lab or avoiding her—she couldn't be sure which, but she was fairly certain that she was the object of his avoidance. Frustrated by his change in the pattern of their working relationship, Brennan had remained pretty much nonresponsive for most of the conversation. That is, she remained so until Booth suggested that she not come with him to interview the family. Upon hearing those words, Brennan snapped at him and raised her voice as she demanded full participation in the case.

Booth argued with her, but she would not be moved, "This was part of our original partnership agreement. You don't get to change things now, Booth!" The dual meaning of those words pained both of them more than a little bit.

"Dammit, Bones, I don't want to fight with you. After this interview, you can..."

"Are you saying that you plan to keep me out of the interview?"

"I...."

"Because I can take you down, Booth. That's why you didn't come over and tell me this to my face. You knew that I wouldn't stand for this."

"You won't even listen to me, Bones. For someone who claims to be entirely rational, you sure can be a horse's ass when you make your mind up without knowing all of the facts. Let me explain."

Angry, Brennan mumbled something and hung up on him.

Frustrated, Booth jumped up and rushed over to the Jeffersonian. When he arrived and asked Bones to walk with him to her office to talk, she refused. She insisted upon talking to him on the platform despite the fact that this argument would be likely to be loud and painful.

"I told you we should discuss this... in private," Booth tried to whisper through this gritted teeth.

"We're adults, Booth. We should be able to disagree in public," she said flatly, intending to dismiss him and thereby annoy him immensely.

"Been there, done that, got the t-shirt."

"I don't know what that means."

"Whatever, look Bones, just call me when you're finished with whatever the hell is so important that it can't wait five minutes, and I'll talk to you privately then, OK?"

"Don't patronize me."

"Don't be so stubborn!"

"Me stubborn?! I gave you an access card to the platform. I welcomed your presence and your questions and even your blatant skepticism in my place of work. We're partners, Booth. You don't get to decide to cut me out of the rest of the case!"

"I'm not cutting you out!"

"I really don't have time for this!" She stormed off. He clenched his fists and his jaw in frustration and then followed her.

"Bones... Bones slow down and listen."

"You've already made up your mind. There should be nothing left to discuss."

"Bones, be reasonable...."

She kept walking quickly and rattled off her angry response with each passing step, "I'm always reasonable, Booth. You are the one who can't be rational and simply work with me. You're the one shutting me out. You want to shut me out? Fine! Consider it done!" she yelled, slamming her office door in his face and then locking it just to annoy him.

Booth smacked his fist on the door twice just because doing so felt good. When the noise drew out the squints who hadn't already been observing the fight he'd had with his partner, he whirled and glared at each of them individually before growling that surely they had some government-funded work to be doing. They all scattered quickly, but Angela lingered longer than the rest. She shot him a look and nodded toward her friend's office door as if suggesting that Booth "fix" whatever had gone wrong.

Finally alone and able to think for a moment, Booth paced outside Bones' office rubbing his hand on his neck and trying to figure out a way—short of breaking it down—that he could enter his partner's office.

He sighed and walked to the door, rapping on it lightly, "Hey Bones… let me in. We need to talk."

"Shouldn't you be back at Hoover interviewing the relatives?"

"Not until we talk. Bones, I'm not leaving. Open the door so that I can talk to you," he said quietly. Lowering his voice even more, he whispered, "C'mon Bones... I promise you'll understand if you'll just let me explain."

"You have an explanation for wanting me not to be in on the interviews?" she asked from her position near the door, not quite convinced that he had been being honest. He sighed. Hadn't he been trying to tell her that for the last half hour? "Yes. Open the door. I'll explain everything."

He heard the lock click and turned the knob quickly. Finding no resistance, he slipped inside, leaving the door cracked so as not to arouse suspicion but closing it enough to give them some much needed privacy.

Bones was sitting on the sofa. He walked over and sat down beside her—not too close, but close enough so that they didn't have to speak loudly, "Are you finished yelling at me?"

"I'm not sure," she said without glancing up at him. "I thought that things were going smoothly. I don't understand why you don't want me to sit in on the interview. How can we be partners if you shut me out?"

"Bones, you have to cut me some slack here. I'm not shutting you out. It's this one interview that... that I was worried about. Trust me. It's not that I don't need your help or want you there." He watched as her face softened as he spoke to her tenderly. He hoped that she'd finally sit and listen to his concerns.

"You only want me to miss this one interview—not interviews in general?"

"Jumping to conclusions, huh? I must be rubbing off on you," he smiled genuinely at her hoping that she'd cave to the smile. The smile almost always worked. He needed for it to work this time.

In faux frustration, she yanked the folder from his hand and read it quickly. Blinking to ensure that the tears that threatened to emerge were hidden, she fake glared at him and grumbled, "Sweets is right, you know. You do have white knight syndrome."

"And you love me for it," he said with a grin and a nudge of his elbow into her ribcage, hoping that she'd let the joke slide just this once. Fortunately, she just looked at him with a smile that told him that they'd be okay. He was relieved to have thawed her anger.

"Look Bones, if I were you, I'd want to skip this one. But you're my partner. I won't shut you out. You decide."

Tearing her eyes away from his empathetic gaze before it smothered her, she nodded, "I'll come. I appreciate the warning and the concern, but I want to sit in."

Booth considered asking her one more time, but he knew better. Bones had made a decision, and he had to respect it even if he thought she was being rather masochistic, "Interview's at 1:30 tomorrow—will that work for you?"

"I'll be there," she said firmly as he stood and crossed the room to leave. He had to get out of there. Sitting here with Bones felt too good, too comfortable. He needed some space to clear his head.

"Good," he replied, pausing before he reached the door to her office, "Bones?"

"Yeah?"

"Will you tell Angela that I apologized or something? She looked ready to kill me earlier."

She smiled at him mischievously and turned her head at an angle so that she could smirk at him to taunt him, "That depends. Will you promise not to try to keep me out of any more interviews?"

"Deal," he said with a wink and a chuckle before he left the office.

By 1:15 the next day, the daughter of the murder victims and her husband were installed in the interrogation room. Sweets had also entered the room and offered them some coffee. Everyone there had sat drinking coffee and waiting for Booth and Brennan to arrive. When Temperance arrived at the office, she had noticed that Booth wasn't in the interrogation room. Curious, she wandered down to his office and found him there going over the evidence. He had been scribbling something onto a notepad.

"Need help with anything?" she asked as she poked her head into his office.

"What? Oh. No. I'm just wrapping up here."

As they made their way to the interrogation room, Booth grasped her elbow to stop her just before they went inside. Sweets sat with his back to them, so Booth had been relieved not to have to deal with his witnessing their intimate exchange just outside the room, "Bones, this is just really too close to home. It's not a sign of weakness to walk away from this one."

"We've handled difficult interviews before, Booth. I can do this."

"I know you can do this, Temperance. Hell, you can do anything. I'm just not convinced that you **_should_** do this." He gazed down at her, his eyes full of concern.

Reaching out to touch his forearm, she smiled and tried to reassure him, "I'm here, Booth. I'll be fine. Stop worrying. You'll get high blood pressure."

"Great, now I'm worried about you and my blood pressure. Thanks, Bones."

They exchanged a smile, and he motioned for her to enter the room, placing his hand on the small of her back out of habit even though they only had to travel mere steps to the table.

After the introductions, Booth and Brennan informed April Westar and her husband Andy that her parents had been murdered. As the woman cried on her husband's shoulder, they told her about how her mother, a police lieutenant, and her father, a college professor who'd been wheelchair-bound, had been murdered. They answered her questions as delicately as possible—watching for her reaction to the news and seeing nothing but grief. April's parents had died simultaneously, or nearly so. They now suspected that they'd been shot by the same bullet, but the lab had been still trying to analyze the specifics of the case, so they didn't reveal that information.

After apologizing again for her loss, Booth asked April to repeat her account of their disappearance from her life when she'd been sixteen. During the interview, Booth kept a close eye on Bones, watching to see if this had put too much strain on her. His heart panged as she asked the questions bravely and clinically—as if she couldn't relate to this woman's pain over being orphaned at about the same age that Bones thought that she had. Brennan had prepared for this to be difficult and appeared to be holding up fine, but she had been more worried about Booth.

Something was off. He hadn't been behaving normally since she'd arrived. The longer the interview continued, the more flustered he became. He stammered more than a few times, and he checked his notes to make certain that he had asked all of the appropriate questions. Brennan had been surprised—Booth never wrote down questions for interviews. He used his gut—not his mind—on those occasions. She didn't know what to make of his strange behavior. She had glanced at Sweets and noticed a look of concern on his face, too.

They had waded through the terribly sad details of April's parents disappearing, and everything seemed to line up with her original report. She'd been shocked to learn that another person had been buried with them, but the woman and her husband had been more sad during the discussion than anxious. Trying not to watch the tender way the man held his wife as they talked, Booth tiptoed through questions designed to rule them out as suspects. Andy got defensive at one point, but April reassured him that they were just doing their jobs. The questions finally answered and Booth looking far worse for the wear than anyone else, the party sat quietly for a moment.

April broke the silence by talking about her parents. Her mother had been moving up the ranks in the police department. Of course she had enemies—she put lots of criminals in jail. Her father worried constantly about her mother, but she had always shrugged off his concern. April painted the picture of a normal, loving family. Her parents hadn't cheated or strayed or done drugs. They had been happily married despite how opposite they were. Quiet and studious even before he became physically challenged by his illness, her father had taken lots of ribbing from his friends about how his wife "wore the pants" in the family. He had never complained, and his wife had always doted on him and shrugged off suggestions that they had anything other than an equal partnership and marriage.

April couldn't remember any big arguments or anything unusual before the day that they disappeared. She still had no suggestions for suspects. As she grew quiet in her grief, Andy spoke up and talked about how everyone loved her parents—how they often hosted amazing parties at their house, etc. Holding April's hand, he informed them that the FBI team that he and April didn't talk of this time often anymore. As he explained the grief April went through when her parents disappeared, it pained Booth to listen to the story knowing how closely it must have resembled Bones' own. Fortunately for the team, Sweets took over and led the questioning then, delving gently into the girl's troubled past.

April had been placed into the foster care system at 16. Andy's parents—her family's closest neighbors—had taken her in. She had been able to stay in the same school and maintain a sense of routine. She'd found it incredibly hard living next door to her former home and watching that house filled with another loving family, but somehow being able to see her past had made her feel closer to her missing family. She and Andy had always been best friends. He stood beside her even when she tried to push him away. Eventually, they had fallen in love.

April finally regained her voice and started to look more composed as she started speaking again, "I don't know how my life might have turned out without Andy and his parents. I might never have known love or true happiness. They stood by me and became my family. Andy... He's the one, you know? He knew it—he was sure about us--long before I was, and he waited patiently for me to figure it out. He has always been so brave, so strong. He was my rock. I could rely upon him and trust him to help me through anything. He was the reason that I survived."

The FBI team had been quiet as they all considered the fact that they now suspected that April's father had somehow risen from his wheelchair and rushed forward to shield his wife from the killer's gun. If the Angelator were correct as usual, the same bullet had cut through both of April's parents. The bullet appeared to be the reason for Robert's death, but it was unclear what had killed Shannon. She had a number of additional wounds that they were still analyzing. But the thought that the man had thrown himself in front of a bullet was echoing in their brains as they listened to the story of love and support from their family. It was clear that April had found the same type of loyalty in Andy.

Booth had been struck by the significance of the fact that both women in this family had found their protectors—men who loved them enough to risk everything for them. As he sat there watching Andy comfort April and saw the way that April's eyes connected with Andy's to communicate lovingly and wordlessly with him, Booth's own heart ached afresh. As he imagined how painful it must have been for Robert to vault up out of his wheelchair to try to protect his wife, he knew what that kind of love felt like. He heard an old Bible verse reverberate loudly in his mind, "Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends." John 15:13—he'd learned that verse in elementary school. The nuns had made him repeat it over and over again after he'd shoved his friend Pete off the slide on the playground. They'd thought Booth was a bully with no conscience. He considered for a moment that they'd be surprised to learn that he now devoted his life to saving others, but then the verse smacked him again and changed his perspective. Greater love… Yeah, he could believe there could be no greater love for anyone than what he felt for Bones. But his faith wasn't helping him make peace with her rejection. What was he supposed to do--love her from a distance? She'd risked her own life to save his before, and he knew that she wouldn't hesitate to die to save him. He found her bravery even more impressive since she didn't believe in God and would still be willing to risk eternal damnation to save him. But how could she have that same "greater love" for him and turn her back on it? It was an endless loop of unanswerable questions repeating over and over in his brain. He glanced over at her for a brief moment and saw the tears in her eyes as she listened to April and Andy. But when she had returned his gaze, the pain he saw there nearly broke him.

Everyone had been completely entranced by the story and by the tender affection the couple displayed for one another. It was obvious that their love was genuine. So when the terribly sad story ended on what had to be considered a relatively happy note, everyone except Brennan had been surprised when Booth stood abruptly, made excuses about needing to make a call, and left the room. Sweets had sensed that he had been upset and started to follow him, but Brennan had put her hand on his forearm and squeezed it hard to keep him in place.

Dr. Sweets sat amazed as, without skipping a beat, Dr. Brennan completed the interview, made apologies for Booth's exit, and reassured April that they'd figure out how her parents had died. "Will you excuse us for just a moment?" Brennan asked, and they nodded, Andy folding April into his arms and holding her tightly during a much-needed private moment. Bones nodded to Sweets who extended his apologies and his card before following her from the room.

Without giving Sweets a chance to talk, Bones whispered. "Please go turn off the recorders in the observation room. I'd like to speak to April privately for a few minutes." Sweets nodded and turned to leave but Bones held her hand out to stop him. "Give him ten more minutes and then go find Booth."

"I… He…," Sweets stammered.

"You have profiled me, Dr. Sweets. I am just as capable of doing you physical harm as Booth, and I'm more likely to hurt you without being provoked."

"He's told me to stay away from him," the psychologist admitted.

"Well, he needs to talk to someone, and it can't be me. He will talk to you if you corner him somewhere. He needs to talk about what is upsetting him, and you are the only one who can get him to open up. Give him more time to calm down and then find him. He's still here. He's waiting until I leave so that I won't question him about it. Find him and make him talk to you. You owe him this."

"Okay."

"Dr. Sweets?"

"Yes?"

"Don't tell him that I sent you after him."

"I won't."

"Thank you." She turned and reentered the room and sat down across from April and Andy. Sweets marveled at how far Dr. Brennan had come. She was taking care of her partner against his will and was willingly putting herself in a situation that might rouse old, disturbing emotions. Smiling sadly about that turn of events, Sweets walked to the empty observation room to turn off the recorder. But once he got there, he found himself unable and unwilling to turn it off.

Pushing his own feelings of guilt aside, he stood there and eavesdropped on the conversation. Convinced that they were alone and had privacy, Dr. Brennan blurted out that her own parents had disappeared when she was 15. She told them about her brother leaving and the fact that she entered foster care. Bound by their common difficult experiences, the two woman spoke openly and honestly about their experiences.

Sweets watched as April spoke tenderly about Andy and how he'd been there for her. "Dr. Brennan, I don't know how you survived having no one. Andy and his family were my center. They kept me from going crazy. How did you do it? You must be so strong."

"I am strong. It wasn't easy; you understand, of course. I had to rely upon myself. I've always done that."

"You're smart and successful. Did you find someone like Andy to help you?"

"No. I'm not married. I don't believe in marriage."

"But you have to have someone...."

"I have reconnected with my father and brother. We're working through things."

"That's good. I hope that you find someone else--a partner, someone special." April's choice of words squeezed Brennan's throat closed for a moment. She swallowed hard and then leaned forward speaking earnestly, "How... how did you do it? How did you trust him... rely upon him? After being abandoned like that? How could you trust Andy and his family not to leave you, hurt you?"

April looked at her with complete understanding, "I didn't at first. I was awful to them. I hated everyone and trusted nobody—not even the family kind enough to take me in. But they never gave up on me."

"You were lucky."

"I was. Dr. Brennan?"

"Yes?"

"It's obvious that your strength and independence have served you well. But don't sacrifice a chance at true happiness by refusing to depend on others."

"Oh. I have very good friends. I believe it's what is commonly called a support network."

"It's even easier to deal with things with a special someone as part of that network. I fought that for years and wish now that I hadn't. Do you have a special someone?"

"I...," Temperance began tentatively, but she looked away for a moment to regain her composure, "I have a best friend. There haven't been vows and we haven't had sexual intercourse, but our bond is strong. I can rely on him..., trust him..., depend on him."

"It's Agent Booth, isn't it? That's why he left—he couldn't stand listening to this story and stay objective and unemotional. It's obvious that he cares about you."

"What?! How... Why do you say that?" Brennan had been so shocked by that question that her mask of calm and distance had been completely ripped off. For a fleeting moment, April and Andy had seen a glimpse into the depths of her soul.

"We've read your books and seen interviews with the two of you. It's the way that he looks at you. We saw you outside the room before the interview. It's easy to see in the way that he watches you. It's obvious that he cares for you. When you know how it feels to care that deeply for someone, you can recognize it in others rather easily."

"Well... I care for him, too. But it's not like... not like what you and Andy share. We're just partners... and very close friends."

"Forgive me for prying. I know you don't know me well enough to discuss this, but I... You and I walked the same road, Dr. Brennan. I think that helps us understand one another pretty well for only having just met. Is he happy with things this way?"

"Things are the way they are. That's the way things have to be. I can't.... Our friendship and partnership are the core of my whole world. I couldn't risk them on anything as flighty as a relationship."

"But you care for him," Andy prodded.

"Of course I care for him! He's my partner. He's saved my life... helped save my father's.... I... We really shouldn't be discussing this. The interview is over...."

"Do you love him?" April asked empathetically. She knew how difficult this had to be for the woman to consider. She'd been there herself—many times.

The normally stoic anthropologist slumped down into her chair looking like a small child rather than an amazingly intelligent, successful adult, "I... I don't know."

Having walked the same path before, only April felt qualified to press Brennan for more information. She recognized all the signs of a woman running like hell from something that might be just what she needed, "I don't think you'd be this upset trying to put your feelings into words if you didn't love him," April suggested, realizing that this push was likely to send the woman scrambling from the room in avoidance.

As she'd predicted, Dr. Brennan stood abruptly, but she surprised them both by pacing behind the chairs along the length of the table and talking openly to them about a most private matter, "Of course, I love him. But love doesn't provide any guarantees. Love can be fleeting. Love can bring pain. Love is unreliable. I... I haven't loved anyone who didn't leave me. I don't know how it feels to love someone who doesn't break my heart by leaving. What Booth and I share looks like love to other people, but I'm not made like that. I'm not meant to feel that deeply or to have anyone in my life who loves me more than briefly. I... I can't quantify my feelings or measure them or examine them. I base all of my decisions on evidence, and in this case, there's not enough evidence." Her voice trailed off at the end, her emotions finally taking control.

April stood slowly and circled the table. She wrapped her arms around the woman and hugged her tightly. They shared a long embrace of understanding and shared pain, "I have to believe that there's a reason you were here today. I couldn't have handled this without your sympathy and understanding. But maybe I'm here for a reason, too, Dr. Brennan, "Give it time. Don't shut out Agent Booth or whoever your special someone turns out to be. I promise it's worth the risk. The man for you is not going to desert you—he'll be your friend first and foremost. You and Agent Booth have been partners for years already, and he's still here—even though you've probably tested his allegiance more than once. Maybe if he stays by your side and doesn't leave you and continues to care for you that will be evidence enough."

With tears in her eyes and a heavy burden on her heart, Temperance fled the scene. She had had enough and couldn't take it anymore, "I... I really have to go. I have bones to catalogue back at the Jeffersonian. We haven't yet found cause of death for that third victim. I... It was nice meeting you. I'm sorry for your loss."

Brennan barked to Charlie that he needed to escort the Westars out of the building and pressed the elevator button multiple times in the irrational hope that it would arrive sooner. As the elevator door opened and she rushed in, she heard Andy's comforting voice span the distance between them, "Dr. Brennan, you've already done the hardest part. You survived. Anything else is easier than that."


	6. Chapter 6

**[A/N: Thank you all so much for reading. I am so very grateful for your comments and for those of you who have "alerted" or "favorited" this story. Your reviews are helping me conquer my fear of trying to write Bones fanfic. Please keep sending comments and suggestions. I'd rather hear something--even a critique--than wonder if a chapter went over like a lead balloon! I haven't read much post-100th eppy fanfic on purpose--I wouldn't want to copy anyone's ideas, so I'm interested by the comments you've made about other post-100th episode stories.**

**I'm at a point in this story where I need to figure some things out, and I have a very busy weekend, so it might be a bit longer than usual before you see another chapter!**

**I only write fanfic for fun and for comments. All money and credit and applause for the show belong to the Bones creators and actors and Fox. I don't own this song, either, but I love it!**

**Happy Mother's Day to all of you moms out there!]**

Chapter Six: Wreck of the Day

_Driving away from the wreck of the day_  
_And the light's always red in the rear-view_  
_Desperately close to a coffin of hope_  
_I'd cheat destiny just to be near you_  
_If this is giving up, well I'm giving up_  
_If this is giving up, well I'm giving up, giving up_  
_On love, On love_

_[From "Wreck of the Day" performed by Anna Nalick]_

Booth had rushed to his office and immediately felt claustrophobic there. Frustrated, he ran up and down the stairwell a few times—a technique he often used to think or to blow off steam—but he found that he was annoyed by the lack of privacy there. He couldn't leave the building during an interview—that would be unprofessional. But he couldn't go back into that room and listen to a happier version of Bones' childhood. More than that, he couldn't face hearing about how another man had been "enough" to save a woman from her past. Seeley Booth was trapped in a horrible sort of emotional hell at work. So he went to the one place where he could find absolute privacy within an agency devoted to invading the privacy of people.

In the relative privacy of the large bathroom stall at the end, Booth leaned hard on one wall as he thought about what he'd just heard and tried to deal with it. Finally finding peace and quiet, he became lost in his thoughts, halfway listening to the noise of people coming and going without even knowing of his presence.

After about ten minutes, he relaxed enough to get better perspective. Now feeling more like he had regained control, he considered heading back to his office. But just as he reached for the latch on the door, his phone buzzed.

"Watch out. Sweets is looking 4 U."

Booth smiled in spite of himself as he read the text message. They were still partners. Bones still had his back. He'd just have to make peace with that. It had been enough for years, and it would have to be enough going forward. Finally smiling, he slipped his phone into his pocket and opened the door, mumbling to himself as he did so. "Thanks, Bones. The last person I want to see right now is...

Sweets."

As he opened the door, the agent found that he was staring down into the face of the very person his partner had been trying to help him avoid.

As Booth pushed past the man to wash his hands out of habit more than anything else, he grumbled, "Jeez. Seriously? How did you even find me in here?"

Sweets glanced down at Booth's ankles and smiled, "If you want to hide out in here, you really need to wear less colorful socks."

Booth wrinkled his forehead as he grimaced at the psychologist, "Hey, I don't usually "hang" out in here. But maybe you do. Maybe this is something creepy you enjoy doing. Maybe I need to tell Daisy that her fiancée likes to stalk people—other guys--in the men's room."

"Your being nasty is not going to scare me into leaving," Sweets said, hoping that he'd be able to withstand the defenses Booth would surely throw up before him.

"Fine. Stay. I'll go," Booth said, moving toward the exit.

"Wait!" Sweets insisted, somehow placing himself between the doorway and the man so determined to pass through it. He knew that trying to intervene physically was not going to end well—not for him at least. But Dr. Brennan had been right; he owed Booth this.

"What the hell, Sweets! You know that I'm not going to stay here and talk to you. Now move before I move you myself."

As Booth leaned closer into Sweets' personal space to intimidate him, the door swung open and Deputy Director Hacker walked in. He paused for a moment trying to make sense of the scene in front of him. Unnerved by witnessing an obviously heated, almost intimate exchange among two of his staff members, he cleared his throat.

Completely frustrated by the curious look on Hacker's face, Booth whirled and returned to the safety of the restroom stall. The last thing he needed was for Hacker to think he had a thing for Sweets. Sweets had blushed 400 shades of red—that clearly wasn't dispelling the man's thought. Once inside the stall, Booth remembered how Sweets had found him. Although it was difficult for a man of his size, Booth climbed up to crouch on the toilet so that nobody could see that he was there. He listened as Hacker greeted Sweets awkwardly and Sweets stammered a bit. Other people came into and out of the restroom. Booth waited for what seemed like a long time and then listened as Hacker washed his hands and said something. _Dammit, why hadn't Sweets just left when he had a chance?! _

"So things looked tense when I walked in here, Dr. Sweets. How's Booth?"

"Agent Booth and I were just discussing a difficult case, that's all."

"So everything's fine? How is Temperance? Are things going well with her partnership with Booth?"

_Dandy_, Booth thought. _Today is truly the day from hell._

"You'll be getting another report today. They are working quite well together and have resolved a number of issues," Sweets said. _Good boy_, thought Booth.

"That's good to hear. You know, I should call Dr. Brennan. I really would like to date her again. Say, Dr. Sweets… Do you think I should ask Booth to put in a good word for me—since they're partnership is going so well?"

Booth nearly groaned and gave his presence away.

"No. No, sir. I don't think that would be wise. Agent Booth and Dr. Brennan are consummate professionals. There's no need to make them discuss something as personal as Dr. Brennan's social life." Booth realized that he was hating Sweets less and less by the moment.

Taking advantage of the opportunity to pry a bit in private (or what he thought was private) Hacker continued, "I see… Those two don't… you know… have a thing for each other, do they? I sometimes catch a vibe or something when they're together...."

Sweets cleared his throat a bit. "They insist that they're partners.... Only they know for sure. I focus on their working relationship--which is fine, by the way," Sweets said. Booth was impressed with Sweets' ability to lie so skillfully. He made a mental note of that fact before Hacker spoke again.

"Okay. Well, I have a meeting. There's no reason _you_ can't put in a good word about me with our favorite anthropologist, right?" Hacker said before excusing himself. Sweets giggled nervously. Booth just shook his head and counted five reasons in his fist why Sweets shouldn't recommend that Bones date Hacker. When the deputy director reached the door to the restroom, he paused to look at Sweets to question why he was staying in the restroom and obviously not using it. Sweets pulled out a toothbrush and mumbled something about needing to brush his teeth.

As soon as he knew that the coast was clear, Booth burst out of the stall and headed for the door. Somehow Sweets managed to get ahead of him.

"Look. It's just the two of us. You're obviously still upset. I thought we might talk about what happened in there."

"No way."

"Agent Booth, I insist," Sweets said, swallowing hard as he watched the vein in Booth's forehead throb in anger as he looked down and saw Sweets' hand pressed against his chest. Annoyed and considering at least two other ways he could get out of the room aside from going straight through Sweets, the agent moved away to start pacing. But he quickly ran out of steam. He just didn't have the energy to fight. Not after the interview. Not today. And now his throat was threatening to close up on him as Sweets stood there waiting—waiting for him to spill his guts. Booth glared at him for a long moment before speaking.

"Fine. I got upset. But I dealt with it. And I don't need to talk to you."

Sweets just looked at him skeptically.

"You might like talking about your feelings, but I don't. I need to DO something—like my job—something constructive." In a voice eerily similar to the one Dr. Brennan had just used on Sweets, Booth said to him, "You've profiled me..." Then he switched to a more condescending, mocking tone, "You know that, as the child of an abusive, alcoholic father, I learned early on to shut up about and ignore my feelings. Instead, I do things to keep people safe. That's all I'm trying to do here. My job. Let me do my job. I'm not talking to you about anything else."

Sweets nodded and let the agent know how impressed he had been with his rational excuse for leaving. Booth was using his own science against him. Dr. Brennan had clearly rubbed off on him. Using Brennan-style logic instead of sheer force proved how truly desperate Booth was not to talk to him. Unfortunately for Booth, it also proved to Sweets how very much the man needed to talk to someone. "You're right, Agent Booth. But you're upset, and you're just going to carry this around all day. Just answer one question honestly, and I'll let you leave." Sweets could hear his own heartbeat echoing in his ears. He was terrified that Booth was going to mop up the floor with him just for trying to keep him there at all.

Booth had been inching closer to Sweets as they had talked. As he drew close enough to do bodily harm, the door swung open again. Both men turned to find a confused Jacobs staring at them in wonder.

"Sorry... Am I interrupting something?"

Booth stepped back quickly and glared at the man. Sweets blushed again. Booth wanted to strangle him for that reason, too.

"Hey, look. I'm fine with it. No problem. Just surprised... Never suspected. Are you two...."

"If you even finish that question, I will use you as a punching bag, Jacobs. For God's sake, get out of here and guard the damned door."

Jacobs started to protest, but Booth stared him into submission. He mumbled, "Yes, sir," and left the room.

All Booth needed was the rumor running rampant that he was now batting for the other team. He'd gotten that often enough—his looks often made women suspicious since he was still single. They couldn't believe someone with his face and sense of chivalry and toned body hadn't long been ensnared by a female. They couldn't see that his heart had been captured long ago but not yet claimed. The guys in the office sometimes commented on his lack of attachment, too. Of course, none of them had been brave enough to ask him about his sexual preferences, but more than a few had wondered for the same reasons the women had. Whatever they thought about him didn't really matter, but Booth decided that he'd be damned if he'd have his co-workers thinking Sweets was his type. "If rumor gets out that you and I are dating, I will kill you, you know that, right?"

"Just answer my one question and then you can go."

Ever full of surprises, Booth glanced up at him and asked, "You're serious? Only one?"

"One."

"Fine. What is it?" Booth walked away as he listened to Sweets. As the men talked, they circled around one another, one of them constantly moving. It was like a verbal boxing match. Both people took turns moving closer as if to throw a punch and then retreating so as not to be knocked out by the other.

"Why did you leave that interrogation?"

"I told you already—I had to take a call."

"You're lying."

"You really want to give me a reason to hit you?"

"Why, Agent Booth? Why did you leave? Be honest."Booth said nothing.

"Dr. Brennan said that you left to give her some privacy. But she lied, too." Booth stopped moving. "Bones doesn't lie."

Sweets was struck by how convinced Booth was of his partner's absolute honesty, "For you, she will. She knew why you left. Do you?"

For a moment, Booth looked as if he were on the verge of exploding from the frustration that now encircled him fully. The thought that Bones knew why he'd walked out of that room was just too much for him to consider in that moment. The fact that she'd lied to protect him from Sweets nearly broke his already shaken heart. At his limit, he looked at Sweets and then charged him to use his strength and size to drive his point home. He got right up into his face and spoke in a way that he knew was usually persuasive, "You can just put a pass in my file today, Sweets. Sign the form and let it go. I'm not talking to you today. Bones and I are working well together. We're partners. Hell, she even warned me that you were looking for me. We don't need your help. I have to get back to work."

Booth pushed past Sweets and bolted for the door. Just as he reached it, Sweets uttered words that stopped him cold. "Actually, I have a few very specific concerns about your working relationship. You know, after you left the meeting, Dr. Brennan took over and handled the situation flawlessly."

"She did?" Booth asked, unable to turn away from Sweet's words about his partner. Now that he had Booth's attention, Sweets continued, "It was amazing—even for her. And given the subject matter? I don't know how she did it—how she survived the interview. But she did. She's amazingly strong."

"See? There's no problem. Bones is strong, I'm eager to do my part of the job. Everything's fine with our partnership. No problem."

"I'm afraid that _**you**_ are the problem, Agent Booth," Sweets said more confidently than he felt. He felt years being peeled from his lifespan with every passing second. Accusing Booth like this might land him in the hospital.

"Excuse me?" Booth asked, whirling and moving closer to the now nervous psychologist.

"You walked out on an interview. You left your partner facing an emotional situation that was dragging her back through the pain of her very troubled past. You left her, Agent Booth. You walked out on her when she was in the middle of a very difficult situation."

"I did not walk out on Bones!" Booth growled. Sweets could literally feel the man's outrage. Booth opened and closed his hands several times, considering afresh his many reasons for wanting to choke the man before him.

"Do you really think she's emotionally mature enough to realize that? Everyone leaves her. Everyone walks out. You promised her you would be there for her—as her friend, as her partner. But you walked out when things got tough."

All the air whooshed out of Booth's lungs. He had never considered that Bones might have thought he was leaving her... abandoning her. Dammit, he needed to talk to her. What if Sweets had been right?

"Why did you leave that interview, Agent Booth?"

Booth stepped away and paced for a moment. "Fine. My white knight complex makes me hate hearing about Bones' crappy, lonely childhood. I know about her past—I don't need to relive it with her."

"But that's not why you left."

"I just _**told**_ you that it was," Booth growled at him, now starting to get angry all over again.

"It's possible that you might not know why you left, but I think you're just avoiding saying it out loud. Tell me the real reason you left."

Booth just glared at him.

Sweets pushed forward, "Tell me the real reason you left. If you tell me, I can help. Seriously."

"You're not going to leave this alone, are you?"

"No."

"Not even if I hit you?"

Sweets swallowed hard and stood a bit taller, "No."

Booth turned his back and braced himself with extended arms on the back wall of the restroom.

Sweets spoke quietly to him to encourage him, "If you admit it out loud, it won't be so hard... You know why you left. I know why you left. Even Dr. Brennan knows why you left. It's not a secret. You don't have to lock it down and keep it inside anymore."

"I hate you," Booth said through gritted teeth. What was it about this kid that opened him up and made him talk about things? He wasn't as good as Gordon-Gordon, but the kid was pretty damned annoying.

"Just tell me. Say it out loud. It will help. I promise."

Booth sighed and closed his eyes. He knew full well why he'd left that room, but he hadn't planned on even thinking about it—much less saying it out loud to Sweets. But like so many things in his life, Booth faced the challenge head on—even if it cost him to do so. "Fine," he said, pushing off the wall and pacing again. "I couldn't handle watching Andy comfort April like that. Her life was so much better than Bones' and it still nearly broke her. It was too much... too similar... but too different. Yeah, she had all the crappy stuff, but there was better stuff, too. Her dad died to save her mother—he isn't a murderer, she wasn't abandoned by her brother, and she married her best friend. Her husband was able to protect her, hold her, help her. He helped her survive. She's happy. Her life has turned out okay. Things should have been that way for Bones, but they're not."

"But that's still not why you left. What made you leave? Why was watching Andy hold her... listening to how he saved her... why was that so hard for you?"

Booth leaned back against the wall and rubbed his hands over his face. Surely Sweets could see that he was pushing him too hard.

"Just say it... Say it out loud."

"Fine, dammit! I couldn't stand watching them because it made me jealous. I was jealous of Andy being able to help her like that. I can't save Bones like that, okay! I wasn't enough... I'm not enough--not for Bones!"

Booth strode across the room and punched the wall of the nearest stall too hard. It left an enormous dent, but the sting of the impact didn't help lessen his emotional pain. He extended his arms and leaned hard against the tile wall in front of him as if he might push his way through it. Not that he felt like leaving at that moment. He was blinking back tears and contemplating kicking Sweets around just for sport for dragging him through all of this right then.

"Booth...," Sweets began, dropping the agent's title in a gesture of friendship and support.

"Just go. Haven't you done enough to me yet?"

"Agent Booth, look at me."

Full of too many emotions to hide them all, Booth swiped roughly at tears that he refused to allow to fall and turned to face the younger man with a stony expression intended to shut him out.

"You're wrong," Sweets said adamantly.

That was enough. Booth had to leave. He was now desperate to leave. He'd feel too guilty actually beating Sweets up, so he'd play "nice patient" if that's what it took to get him out of this God-forsaken room.

"Sweets, I know you feel guilty for what happened with me and Bones. Let it go. We're okay. Just go. I need to get back to work."

"No. This is important. Dr. Brennan said things to April and Andy that you need to know." Booth just looked at him, wary of the words that might be coming.

"She said that she has friends and a support network."

"I know that. So do you. She does."

"But what I overheard when eavesdropping...," Sweets started to say, but Booth raised a hand to cut him off.

"Don't.... That's private. Don't tell me...."

Sweets continued anyway, "She told them that you were the one she depends on, the one who accepts and cares for her, the one... the one who helped her survive."

Determined to bury the emotions those words brought, Booth evaded and cleared his throat before saying in a shaky voice, "I'm her partner. That's what partners do."

"But she admitted that you were her special someone. She said her partnership and friendship with you were sacred to her... that nothing--no one was more important...."

"Dammit, Sweets! Just write another book so you can give this a rest."

"She said... She said all of that and so much more. The rest you need to hear from her. But there was so much more...."

"Why... why are you telling me this? She turned me down. I have to move on."

"You spend all of your time saving everyone else. Save yourself. Don't give up hope. Hope is part of who you are. Don't do anything or say anything. Just think about it. I think she's just scared—terrified even. But she's not afraid of you. It's not that you aren't enough. She would tell you that herself if you asked her. I'd bet my life on it. And she'd want me to tell you that it's not that you couldn't save her, Agent Booth. In fact, you have been everything she's needed."

Just when Booth was finally tempted to talk to him more, Sweets turned and left the room without saying another word. Booth shook his head and cursed, unable to stop thinking about what Sweets had told him.

Booth sighed and walked over to splash some water on his face. Then he left the room feeling years older but somehow a bit less depressed. He threw soft punch at Jacobs's arm and told him that he'd kiss him on the lips in the office if he spread any rumors about him and Sweets. The younger man grinned at him. Booth thanked him for standing guard. Then he cursed the practice of psychology and his agency's use of it. Jacobs just nodded at his mentor and was grateful he'd been able to do a favor for him.

Booth rushed down the hallway and yelled to Charlie, "You've got 10 minutes to get me a lead, Charlie-boy. Ten minutes to hand me something juicy. I need to work a lead today, man. Bring me something hot."

Booth sent Bones a brief reply to her text, thanking her for the message about Sweets, then he pulled up the history on Shannon Forster's case files for the department, hoping to find a lead he could pursue.


	7. Chapter 7

**_[A/N: I remain astounded by your generous comments and very grateful for them! _**

**_Now I remember why I usually write stories in their entirety before posting them. This is still on track, but I may be wandering a bit more than I would if I had written the whole story already. Hopefully the story isn't suffering for it. _**

**_I know that I lean way too heavily on Booth's POV because it's easier for me to understand and write, but I have made a commitment to give Bones the consideration she deserves in coming chapters. _**

**_This chapter directly answers one wonderful reader's thoughtful request_****_. Please let me know what you think or leave a question if you have one. The next chapter is mostly written, and I find that reviews are just the fuel I need to find the time and energy write more quickly!]_**

Chapter Seven: States of Matter

Booth and Charlie spent the afternoon interviewing neighbors and friends about the Forsters' disappearance seven years earlier. After exhausting all of those leads and not coming up with much, they had gone to the sheriff's office to kick around the guys who'd originally investigated Lieutenant Forster's disappearance. Booth figured that poking holes in the efforts of local law enforcement had been just the thing he had needed today. Making them squirm had felt good. One of the officers had been a bit smug, and Booth had enjoyed breaking the man down bit by bit to humble him. He hadn't found the person who'd killed one of his own. In Booth's book, nobody in that situation should feel smug about his job.

With a few potential leads, Booth and Charlie headed back to the office. Booth left Bones a message asking for an update on the case. When she called him back later, Bones suggested that she and Booth meet for dinner at the diner to discuss what both teams had found so far. Surprised by her suggestion, Booth swallowed hard—he really hadn't been prepared to see her again yet. What if the interview had made her upset or vulnerable? He wasn't sure he was solid enough yet to be there for her. But sensing the tension in her voice, Booth relented and agreed to meet her. He was unable to resist helping her or trying to be there for her whenever she needed him.

Exceptionally wary about what the evening might bring, Booth dialed a familiar number and set up an escape plan in case he needed to extract himself from the situation at the diner. He felt guilty doing so—this was Bones he was planning to hide from, after all. But the man had strong self-preservation skills to accompany his white knight tendencies. If he'd taken much time to think about it, he'd have realized that calling for backup had been as much a move designed to protect Bones as it had been to protect him. His caller had been surprised to hear from him and confused by his request. He asked her to meet him at the diner an hour after he'd been scheduled to meet Bones. She asked why, and he had been skillfully evasive; he just told her that it was important. She knew him well enough to take him at his word.

When Booth arrived at the diner, Bones had been sitting nervously sipping her tea as she waited for him. He had been pleased to see that their favorite waitress had just placed their food down on the table. Bones had ordered for him. He sighed and strode in confidently. Bones had ordered for him like always. That felt good.

"Hey, Bones," he said, slipping into his seat and smiling at her. She returned the smile and asked how his afternoon had been. Gesturing as if to offer her free access to his fries, he explained what he and Charlie had learned that afternoon, sidestepping his browbeating of the officers but not leaving out any essential details. Nodding her acceptance of the results of his inquiries and eating more than her fair share of his fries, Brennan shared the lab's latest news with him. As she explained to her partner that the team had made remarkable progress, she watched his approval of their quick work register slowly on his face as she filled him in on the details. The third body had been mutilated, but they'd determined that most of the damage had occurred after the teenaged boy's death. Hodgins had found particulates and carpet fibers adhering to the garbage bag that suggested that the victim had been killed elsewhere and transported to the burial site. The boy had not been shot like the other two victims. Instead, he'd been beaten with a metal object—most likely a common pipe. While none of those details had been enough to give them strong leads about the person's identity, Angela was now working with Wendell to identify a pattern in the bruising—the evidence suggested that the boy had been beaten in a pattern—it had been some sort of defined shape or symbol. Booth's heart clenched as he listened to his partner's explanation of the torture and pain inflicted on the young boy before his death.

Morbid though the subject matter had been, the partners lost themselves in their desire to piece the evidence together in order to catch the criminal who'd inflicted so much pain on the people they'd found buried together and who'd damaged so many other people's lives. In an intricate dance more intimate than either of them would want to consider, they matched wits and tested one another's theories and ruled scenarios in and out of the list of possibilities. She questioned his reasoning and he pushed her to step a bit past her pure science. This was Bones and Booth at their best state—open, honest, smart, capable, focused and absolutely brilliant. They worked together so seamlessly and so well that even they didn't appreciate the sheer genius that their huddling together over a table at the diner produced.

As they had sat there eating and hypothesizing, Brennan had watched her partner relax. Booth wore his intensity and stress like a mantle clearly recognizable by those who knew him well. She'd seen how tense he'd been when he arrived, but she had relished the fact that—this deep into their lively discussion of the case and potential scenarios—he looked entirely like the man she'd spent most of her time with for the last five years. She observed carefully that Booth had started smiling at her more often, and his eyes were doing that dance in the light that filled them when he got excited about something. He was cracking jokes at inappropriate times and goading her about her misuse of some phrase she had never understood. He'd even tried to strong-arm her into eating some of his pie. He'd contorted his face into that conspiratorial look with raised eyebrows and a cocked eye a time or two when he suggested that he'd shot down a few of her ideas, bragging about his superior FBI powers of observation or some such nonsense. She'd watched him grin when she had corrected his purposeful butchering of a scientific term or two and felt comfortable at rest with him for the first time in ages. They'd both enjoyed the peace of settling back in to a routine that had grounded both of them for so long they'd grown to depend upon it as much as they needed water and air... and one another.

By the time they'd finished eating, it was as if the last few weeks had never happened. They were Bones and Booth, and they were relaxed and enjoying one another's company. But when she refused his latest offer of pie, Brennan had felt unexpected tears spring to her eyes. The restoration of the balance of things between them now struck her so strongly. They were still the same people—with the same ideas and habits and issues. She was never going to eat any of his pie, and he was never going to stop offering it to her. They were defined beings with immovable properties. Brennan drank some water and swallowed hard to tamp down the emotion that had rushed at her from out of nowhere. Ever observant, Booth had recognized her withdrawal from the conversation. He'd smiled at her—trying to camouflage the concern for her in his expression—and made some lame joke about it "only being a tiny bite of pie" to try to make her laugh her worries away. She hadn't laughed with him.

Despite his weak attempt at humor, the comfort of their togetherness already melted into the recently familiar angsty awkwardness. Brennan blurted out an apology for ruining their delightful evening and then sat momentarily confused by the facts about each of them individually and together that flooded through her oversized brain. She hated that her emotions had become so embedded in her connection to Booth. It would have been so much simpler to put him in a metaphorical box so that she could limit his ability to stir her emotions, but she couldn't. And this time, she realized that he had not been trying to do anything other than spend time with her. It had been her gut that had been wreaking havoc on what had been an otherwise positive evening. Unable to stand the tension any longer, she immediately stated that she wanted to ask Booth "one question."

Booth groaned inwardly thinking this would likely be far worse than being trapped in the restroom with Sweets for his "one question," but he had nodded his assent. He'd known he would agree to whatever she asked from the first moment she looked worried. Staring at him for a moment but then shifting her gaze downward to a random spot on the tabletop keeping them at a safe distance from one another, Brennan told Booth that the evidence suggested that he'd always been decisive about women and relationships. Then, rushing as if to bring on the pain of the answer as much as anything, she asked him why--why, if he really had feelings for her all those years, why he had waited to say anything.

Shocked by her question, all he could say had been a wistful "Bones...." Sadly, she took his slow response as a sign that she had been right. She tried to answer for him. The pain of his response couldn't hurt as deeply if she were the one to provide it, could it? "It was because of me, wasn't it? I'm too... distant, difficult, stunted..., stubborn...," she continued to rattle off a short list of what she deemed her many considerable faults. "You needed that much time to even consider a relationship with me. Anyone would."

The look on her face hurt him so badly that he felt it could have caused him to bleed until he died from it. He'd had the answer to her question immediately; however, he had taken the time to formulate a way to say it that he hoped wouldn't send her running away. But at that very moment, Cam showed up at the time he'd requested and sat down beside Booth at the table without being asked.

Booth's eyes went wide—dammit, he'd forgotten all about calling Cam, and the timing of her arrival had been so bad it defied descriptions that weren't strings of curse words. His mind raced. He'd have to rely on Cam's connection with him to get her to give them just a few more minutes alone. Bones had opened a powder keg, thrown in the match, and shoved herself down into the chamber with it. He had only moments to say something—anything--to keep her from obliterating the years he'd spent trying to get her to trust herself and to trust him.

Unfortunately for Booth, the ever-decisive anthropologist immediately put up a defensive wall. After greeting Cam as calmly as circumstances would allow, she leveled a gaze at Booth and spoke to him in an eerily distant voice that stabbed at him painfully, "I believe that we have exhausted this topic of conversation, Booth. There is no need for any further discussion. If you opt to be rational, you will agree that we should just drop the subject entirely. I prefer that we not discuss it again."

"Bones," Booth started tentatively now that Cam was there taking all of this in, but she cut him off.

"Really, Booth. I insist." As she sat there watching Dr. Saroyan try to understand what was going on and watching Booth squirm in his discomfort, Brennan had another jarring realization. Not only did Booth have a history of being decisive about his relationships, he also had—on more than one occasion—revitalized the relationships for sex with his former lovers. He'd jumped back into bed with Rebecca for a period of time and hinted that it had not just been that one time, and he'd also become romantically re-involved with Cam after she moved to Washington. The evidence seemed to indicate clearly that, once Booth connected deeply with a woman—he had been the one who'd told her that two people couldn't just have sex, that it had to be more than that—he seemed vulnerable to that connection even after the relationship had run its course. Perhaps that is why Cam had come there. Perhaps Booth would be turning to her now to... meet his needs. As much as that thought pained her, her fear that Booth might make another overture to her at some future date terrified her even more. This current trauma between them had been too difficult for her. She could not... would not risk enduring this type of pain and guilt again. Not even for Booth. She had to put an end to this and help them get back to being what she needed them to be--just partners and friends.

Without warning, Brennan jumped up and reported that she had to leave. She rattled off a list of scientific tests she and Hodgins had to begin early in the morning and, without another word, fled from the diner. Booth sat there stunned for a moment and then leapt up to follow her, ignoring Cam's questions and yelling, "I'll be back."

Bones had sped halfway down the block when he caught up with her. She'd climbed into her car and closed the door. As she'd seen Booth approaching, she had tried to pull out into the light traffic, but he had jumped into her path and walked over to the window slowly, knocking and asking her to listen to him.

"Bones...," he said tenderly, hating the fact that she wasn't even trying to hide her tears as she hit the button to lower the window and waited as if having that barrier removed was going to bring her pain instead of comfort.

"I need to go. I told you that I have to be at the lab early in the morning," she said in a truly defeated voice. She hoped that he would understand her need for escape and take pity on her. Not for the first time, she had been wrong.

"Not yet. Look, your question surprised me, that's all. It was a good question. It made me think. You're right. I am decisive about relationships."

She sniffled and composed her face into a mask of indifference. She knew that it would hold only moments, but she had been determined to keep it in place long enough to get away from Booth, "Thanks for letting me know that I was correct in my assumption. I really must go now."

"No! Wait a minute. Bones, listen to me! I took a long time—probably too long—to say anything to you, but you have to believe me. I did a lot of thinking about it, but it wasn't that it took me years to decide. I decided that I wanted you that first day I met you. I decided just like I always do—quickly, without regret, decisively. I just didn't let you know about that until later."

"Oh," she said with a sniffle, hating the way that her heart felt lighter just hearing those words. But why did the words she had so longer to hear bring along with them a torrent of painful regret and frustration she hadn't expected.

"Bones?"

She looked up at him slowly and didn't trust herself to speak.

"It wasn't that you weren't worth the chance... It was that you were worth waiting for. I was just trying to give you time to come around to the idea. I'd made up my mind a long time ago."

He watched as tears fell freely down her face as his confession registered first in her brain and then in her heart. Without considering the consequences, he reached in and opened her door, stepping around it and reaching in to pull her up to him so that he could hug her. She gripped him tightly and held on as if for dear life.

Brennan allowed herself the indulgence of letting him comfort her silently for a long moment. His arms around her had felt so good... so right. She tried to memorize the feeling—knowing that someone loved and cared for her, allowing the simple touch of a hug to lower her blood pressure and calm her wildly beating heart. Being encircled by his arms and held flush against his body triggered other physiological reactions, but she ignored them for more urgent matters. In this very brief moment, she just allowed herself to be comforted. Well, her heart and her body were comforted while her mind continued cataloguing evidence. She had been amazed how very much the physical contact helped ease her tension and worry. She suspected that the emotional attachment must have magnified the impact of his physical touch. Having never felt this degree of comfort from a loved one's embrace, her mind worked furiously to identify the neurological reactions that were required to translate a physical touch into such emotionally stabilizing effects. Anything else felt safer than allowing herself to feel such a strong attachment to anyone without holding part of her soul back.

Suddenly, her scientific analysis of the situation had been drawn to a halt. She realized that she had been being selfish again. She had to stop dragging Booth back down into this quagmire of emotions and problems. She had to let him heal. While he appeared to be handling this—whatever you called what had happened to them—better than she at the moment, she knew that most of his behavior had been contrived either to hide his pain or to relieve her guilt. Brennan knew that he would never be able to move past this if she were continually falling apart on him. She'd made her decision, and it was her responsibility to make certain that her partner moved past it and recovered so that they could remain friends. Pushing him away and only succeeding in moving him as far away as he'd release her, she looked up into his eyes, "Why are you doing this? Why are you telling me this? Why are you comforting me when I'm the one who hurt you?"

He sighed and hugged her tightly again, his heart panging when she finally stopped struggling to keep distance between them. He whispered into her hair words that shot directly into her heart, "Because you matter to me, Bones. You think that nobody's ever cared enough about you to stay. Well, you're wrong. You're worth it. I'm still here. And I'm not leaving. You have to believe me." He pushed her back at arm's length, knowing that she needed to see the truth in his eyes even if watching her listen to him were going to break him in half, "Just because... just because things between us aren't going any farther... that doesn't mean I'm going to stop caring about you."

"I don't deserve you," she confessed, pulling him back into a hug she hoped would comfort rather than torture him.

"Well, you're stuck with me, Bones. Man hugs are just part of the deal," he lied for both of them.

"This is so hard. I never dreamed this would be so difficult," she said, sniffling and pulling away. This time he allowed her to move farther away from him.

"It's like anything else, Bones," he said tenderly. "You'll use your head, and I'll use my gut. We'll figure out how to fix this. We just need a little more time."

She smiled up at him and was relieved to see some semblance of a smile on his face as well, "We were close tonight. It was almost like the good olden days."

"Old days, Bones. The good old days. But yeah."

There was then a brief lull in the conversation. Both of them used that pause to calm themselves down. Booth smiled at his partner and hoped that she'd reward him with one of those dazzling smiles of her own. Not for the first time, he had been mistaken.

"Wait a minute! You called Dr. Saroyan and asked her to come tonight, didn't you? You were afraid to be there with me!"

_Crap._

"I... um... well, Bones, it had been a really long day."

Closing the distance between them this time out of anger instead of more tender emotions, Brennan pointed her finger at his chest as she spoke loudly, "Do you really need protection from me, Booth? Am I that painful and horrible to deal with?"

Booth grabbed her wrist and held it in place, squeezing it tightly to hold her attention and threatening her so that she'd stop advancing on him, "Stop being a drama queen, Bones. It doesn't suit you."

"I don't know what that means."

"I called Cam hoping that her coming into the diner would help either one of us who needed rescuing. But I shouldn't have done that. We're partners. We can trust each other. I won't do that again. I'm sorry, Bones." She considered arguing with him further, but he looked sincere in his apology and she had been too exhausted to put up a fight.

"Apology accepted. Now release my wrist or I'll be forced to use my martial arts training to extract it."

Booth chuckled and released her wrist. She smiled back at him in spite of herself.

"See you at the lab tomorrow?" she asked as she climbed back into the car. He nodded and closed the door behind her and backed far enough away so that she'd be able to pull out.

"Thank you, Booth," she said, waving and pulling her car out into traffic. He stood there for a long time after she drove away. Then he dragged his weary body back into the diner hoping that Cam wouldn't ask him too many questions.

Knowing Seeley the way she did, Cam had already paid the bill. She met him at the door to the diner and took him to the bar instead. Saying few words but allowing his posture and his mental state say everything important about what he'd been through, Booth drank entirely too much. Cam sat there with him as he thought about things too painful to discuss and tried to numb his pain.

At some point before the drunken man became too heavy and leaden for her to manage, Cam folded him into her car and drove him to her apartment. She had sensed intuitively that Booth wouldn't want to stay alone that night. As they stumbled into her apartment with him leaning far too heavily upon her, Booth asked Cam if she were dating anyone. After shooting him a look to make it clear that she would certainly not be dating him again, she explained that she did indeed have a "special someone." With a goofy drunken grin, Booth showed his surprise, "You do? How long?"

"Six months."

"Really? That long? How come I don't know that?"

"Because it's not your business."

"Awww.... C'mon, Cam. We're... we're friends, right?"

"Yes, Seeley, we're friends."

"So is.... What's his name?" Booth asked quite loudly.

"Be quiet, Seeley. Michelle is sleeping. His name is Robert. No running background checks on him or spying on him, okay?"

With an expression that made no promises that he wouldn't pry to protect her, Booth asked, "So this Robert… is he a big, strong guy like me?"

"Stop fishing for compliments, Seeley. I wouldn't have dated you if I hadn't thought you were sexy."

"You think I'm sexy!" he pondered with a goofy grin that annoyed his friend, "I'm not fishing. I'm just askin'. I mighta had-d-d too much to drink to fight with a big guy."

"He's not here tonight, and there will be no fighting. You're sleeping—on the sofa."

"You don't think he'll come by? He's here some nights, right? Good for you, Cam. And he's a lucky man... very lucky if I remember...."

"Shut up or I will hurt you."

"Promise?" he asked, waggling his eyebrows at her. She shoved him lightly, surprised how easily she had been able to cause him to fall off balance onto the couch. In his drunken confusion and lost in old memories, Booth looked a bit hopeful for a moment that she'd be joining him on the sofa, but Cam turned quickly and walked away leaving him mired in his lonely reality.

Shrugging, Booth relaxed into the sofa and fell asleep instantly. He had already been snoring by the time she brought sheets and a blanket over for him. Smiling at him, Cam covered him up and tucked the blanket in around him. She swore that he mumbled something like "worth it, Bones" as he turned and pulled the blanket up under his chin.

Camille smiled down at him sadly. Seeley hadn't said much about the reason for his drinking, but she knew him well enough that his current state of inebriation had to do with his partner. She'd never seen him this much in love with any woman. Years ago, she'd hoped for so long that he'd have fallen that hard for her. If he had, she'd been certain that she'd have fallen right in along with him. Their relationship had a good rhythm and they were compatible in many ways, but they were always too stubbornly independent to meet one another close enough to the center. Both of them had held back a bit too much of themselves. At that distance, true love couldn't begin to form or take hold. They never made it past the hot sex and the strong friendship. She sighed as she looked down at the man she still adored as a friend.

Sometime over the last five years, her former lover had finally found the ability to give up that part of him that made it possible to love someone deeply. But she wasn't convinced that he'd end up happy or in a relationship. Dr. Brennan had clearly become attached to him and relied upon him and trusted him implicitly, but she might not ever be capable of trusting anyone enough to love him back the way that Seeley deserved. He was obviously stuck—unwilling to walk away and yet unable to get past the enormous brick wall that lie between them. Cam wondered that he hadn't shown up on her doorstep drunk about this before now. Something had clearly happened to change the dynamic between the partners, and Seeley was looking the worse for it. Grateful that she'd been able to be there for him and to get him home safely, Cam turned and headed to her room to catch a few hours of sleep.

_**[A/N: Don't worry, Booth's not headed toward alcoholism... he'd just had a really long day. I'll share something with you that he doesn't yet know. The next day may be even rougher, but it might make for a lighter reading....]**_


	8. Chapter 8

_**[A/N: Wow. Okay. This chapter came out of nowhere. It literally materialized and disrupted a chapter I was actually excited about writing and posting. I suppose I had done Bones an injustice because she (at least the version of her in my mind) was eager to interrupt and insert part of her own story here. Writing her POV makes me quite wordy (yes, even more than usual). I suppose I consider her substantial thoughts to require long explanation or something. Anyway, this chapter surprised me as it unfolded, but in this moment, I think that I am pretty pleased with how it developed. **_

_**I really am eager for your thoughts on this chapter. If this part doesn't work, I can limit Brennan's part of the story easily since she still frightens me more than a bit. But if I pulled off a decent take on her perspective and it works, I can make sure to shift to her view of things every so often for the sake of balance. Please let me know what you think--even if you want to tell me this chapter is completely off the wall and disturbing! It's not typical for me by any means. Honestly, I am quite disturbed by the imagery in this chapter, but it seemed to write itself. It's fine if you scoff or laugh or ask if I was severely sleep deprived when writing it. I've done all those things myself. This was a foray into unchartered fanfic-writing waters for me. Feedback would be very much appreciated.**_

_**If I owned Fox or Bones or its characters, I'd make the show last year round. Sadly, it appears those who do have other plans. Thanks ever so much for reading!]**_

**Chapter Eight: There's An Exception to Every Rule**

_Maybe I know somewhere deep in_

_my soul that love never lasts._

_And we've got to find other ways_

_to make it alone or keep a straight face._

Temperance Brennan took no notice as the display on the clock changed to read 3:07 a.m. That very fact was noteworthy: there was hardly anything that Dr. Brennan, the world renowned forensic anthropologist did not notice. She had made a career—a lifestyle—out of noticing everything. She identified and observed microscopic evidence that most people didn't even know existed. She uncovered evidence that other experts had missed or ignored. But the person staring at the clock across the room was the woman--the girl who'd been deserted by everyone she had loved as a child, the internally bruised and vulnerable woman who'd made being invulnerable and strong and independent such a part of her that it had overshadowed everything else—even her survival and her success. While doing so—being strong and independent—had been the only way she'd survived her early years and had likely been the primary cause for her ascent to the top of her very specialized field, the woman—Temperance, not Dr. Brennan—now realized that those traits that had been the key to her survival were not obtained or honed or perfected without great cost.

Temperance was a highly rational person. As such, she seldom suffered long from insomnia. If she were ever distracted from sleeping, she simply reasoned that her body and mind needed a certain amount of sleep in order to perform at their optimum levels. That conclusion having been reached, she typically slipped into bed and slept soundly for a requisite amount of time. Reason had that tight a control on her brain and her actions. Certainly there had been major life events that had interrupted her sleep or made it difficult for sleep to come, but those events were rare and temporary. She hadn't slept for weeks after her parents had disappeared, and she had been too frightened to sleep when moving to new foster homes. She'd had nightmares—still had nightmare sometimes about the Gormogon case… or about Zach… or about her kidnapping with Hodgins or about Booth's disappearances. But the rational part of her brain prevented the emotional side from allowing those nightmares and memories from disturbing what she considered to be a highly successful and disciplined sleeping routine.

Frustrated by the fact that she remained awake and continued to stare at a digital time display hours after she'd "told" herself to sleep, Temperance sat perfectly still. Her body did not betray the chaos and disturbance within it. Her ever-working mind was replaying the events of the evening over and over and over again. She had long since memorized the evening and analyzed its events from every perspective—even from those that were not purely rational. As she already had for hours, she now sat contemplating her actions... and Booth's... her inability to face the intensity of the reality before her... Booth's words that haunted her mind and her soul....

_And I've always lived like this_

_keeping a comfortable distance._

_And up until now I swore to myself_

_that I'm content with loneliness,_

_'cause none of it was ever worth the risk._

She absolutely hated the way that she'd been feeling and behaving recently. Booth owed her nothing—he'd offered her everything and refused to turn away from her completely despite the fact that she had refused that offer. She had no right, no claim, and no expectation that he discuss his thoughts or his feelings with her. She cursed her damned inability to walk away from something without understanding every facet of it in excruciating detail. Why couldn't she just drink away her doubts or ignore her frustrations? Why did it matter to her what he thought or what he felt about anything other than being her partner and continuing to be her friend? She couldn't return his affection—not in the way that he deserved. She was getting her way—he'd still work with her and be her friend despite her rejection. Why would her mind insist upon examining the details of what almost was and what couldn't have been and dwelling on the reasons why Booth did or said things to her or to any other women?

There was no logical explanation. It wasn't as if she wanted those things that Booth wanted. Of course she wanted for him to be happy and to find what he was looking for. But she reminded herself that she didn't want to date him or to sacrifice part of herself to him or to anyone else. She didn't want to give things a try or to risk any part of their current partnership. She had no assurance that she'd even be alive in 30 or 40 or 50 years—or that he would be. And yet she'd felt so wistful when Booth had said that he'd wanted her to be there with him then. While she'd never be so callous as to dismiss his genuine feelings and hopes about the future—she'd been touched by them significantly, years of anthropological study had taught her that such long-term monogamous, happy attachments were as rare as the coral she'd once discovered along the coast of Australia. While Booth had never given her any reason to doubt his sincerity or his ability to be one of those rare people who deserved and could find and hold onto that sort of relationship, she knew that he had been working in vain to try to establish one with her. She'd be fortunate if they managed to remain friends for that long. Anything more than that was beyond the realm of her experience and her ability to consider seriously.

She hadn't lost anything. She shouldn't have needed consoling. Why had she? The possibility that Booth's loss of hope for them could constitute a loss for her, too, was beyond her. Instead, she had focused on the surface—on the actions and the words and the circumstances—not on the nebulous feelings behind them. Those things couldn't be measured or weighed or taken as substantial evidence. She was not a woman of faith. She could only rely upon information she could test and examine. So that's what she did.

She sighed as the internal voice she kept hidden carefully away at most times now pointed out that Booth was behaving predictably and within his nature despite the pain of her refusal. If he had managed to do so having to face the loss of a significant hope for his future and if she had lost nothing, why hadn't she been able to behave as she normally would have? She was more disciplined, more rigorous, more predictable than anyone else—even Booth. If he were not sidelined by his disappointment, why had she been?

She should have filed the whole discussion with Booth about their taking a chance on dating into her extensive memory banks by now. Of course it would be a significant experience for her—perhaps the closest she'd ever come to considering anything resembling real relationship beyond friendship, but it was over. At an early age, Temperance Brennan had made a habit of learning from her experiences and then filing them away as evidence, memories, and experiences only to be revisited for the purposes of avoiding future mistakes and missteps. Life was simpler that way. Dealing with disappointment and heartbreak was easier when the pain of the loss was kept at a distance and banished from her mind.

That was why she had been struggling to understand why this current situation had been so different. Why couldn't she remain objective and move past Booth's offer and the fallout from it? Why—when all rational thought directed her to compartmentalize her emotions and tuck them neatly into the boxes in her mind that resembled those in bone storage—couldn't she put the matter to rest? Why did she feel unsettled and vulnerable when there was no threat—no further reason to consider a change to her current carefully controlled environment? As she considered these things, the weary scientist finally drifted into a restless sleep, carrying the weight of her significant worries along with her.

Despite her age, education and extensive travel, Temperance Brennan now observed clearly for the first time that her metaphorical drawers of emotional attachment were relatively empty. Along an enormous wall filled with clear plastic storage boxes that closely resembled those in her laboratory, there were many drawers of various colors and sizes. Naturally, there was a drawer labeled with the name of each of her parents, the contents of which had rattled around and become jumbled with first the discovery of her mother's remains and later with her father's reappearance in her life. At the time, each of those events had been life-altering and extremely upsetting, but she had managed to regain her grip on her self control and rationality in order to put those memories and experiences into the proper perspective in order to store them in this vault of her emotional bank. Dealing with those losses and with the remains of those former relationships had been extraordinarily difficult. Brennan winced as she recalled so vividly the ways that Booth had held her hand and stood beside her as she had done so.

_But you are the only exception_

There was a drawer for her tumultuous relationship with her brother, the contents of that box battered by his desertion as much as they had originally been treasured by her childlike worship of him before things had gone so terribly wrong between them. That drawer had finally been put to rest in their current attempts to become friends again if not loving, entirely supportive siblings. Brennan's heart clenched as she remembered how Booth had tracked Russ down, saved his life, helped him to see his girlfriend's daughter in the hospital, gotten him out of jail, and convinced her to spend Christmas with him that first year. He'd never stopped encouraging her to reach out to reconnect more deeply with her brother even if he weren't one of his favorite people. She realized that it would be dishonest not to admit the role Booth had played in her reconciliation with her brother. He'd pushed her toward it against her will and stood beside her when taking those steps threatened to crush her.

_You are the only exception _

As she considered the wall of emotional evidence in front of her, she realized that there were also drawers full of more stable, more functional friendships she'd established and maintained over the last few years. There was a bright purple drawer full of art and color and support and advice and acceptance from Angela. Next to that was a brown drawer full of science and exploration and a common dedication to work-not-required-for-a-livelihood for Hodgins. That drawer also held a secret, locked compartment with the shared trauma she and Hodgins had endured when they had been kidnapped. Above that was a blue, Jeffersonian lab coat-colored drawer full of her attachment to and disappointment in Zach Addy. When she considered her friendships and attachments, she realized that she felt most like family with Zach. They were so similar, so intelligent, so inappropriately outfitted for life and love outside the laboratory. Whenever she examined the contents of Zach's drawer, she wept internal tears if not actual ones. She missed him terribly and ached for things to have turned out differently for him. Beyond those feelings of pain and loss, she could also feel that his demise had been a precursor for whatever potentially lonely one lie ahead of her.

There had also been a light grey drawer for Sweets—she'd dumped that one out on more than one occasion—for Booth's sake if not for her own. But she and Dr. Sweets had established a rapport and a mutual "I respect you even if I can't begin to understand you fully" relationship that had grown and matured as Sweets himself had. Brennan found that she trusted him as almost no other. Sweets wasn't without fault, and he certainly made more than his fair share of mistakes, but his intentions and affections were true and pure. She sighed. Booth might be beyond the point of forgiving Sweets for his latest, most indelicate intrusion into their partnership. But she didn't blame Sweets. He had just been one factor in their environment and he had been severely limited by his unscientific field of psychology. Besides, he had wanted happiness and love for both of them. Was it really fair to fault such a young, idealistic man for wishing them happiness they weren't meant to discover together?

Temperance Brennan's mental inventory of emotional connections included other boxes not yet filled to capacity. There were boxes for Dr. Saroyan and Andrew Hacker and Caroline and for the other interns at the lab. There were also boxes for Amy and her kids and for Sid and for Parker. Swallowing hard, Temperance considered the boy for a long moment. Thoughts of him were hopelessly entwined with those of his father, however, so she pressed upon that drawer until that relationship were stored safely away to make certain that the tangled web of feelings and unwelcome emotions could not pull on her any longer.

Thinking of Parker had reminded her of Booth's own childhood wounds and difficulties. He was in so many ways still seeking that comfort and approval and acceptance that he had never found in his father. Convinced though she was of the validity of her decision, she couldn't hide the fact that being the source of additional pain for her partner was extremely difficult. Denying that man—her selfless and adoring protector—anything that he wanted desperately could never be an easy thing. She wished that she had been able to be the source of healing and support for him that he constantly had been for her. If she'd been able to change a part of herself in order to make him happy, she would have. Sadly, she realized that change that significant within her simply wasn't possible. Circumstances and genetics and events had conspired to mold her so firmly into the type of person she was that the only way that change could happen in her was from brute force or by someone chipping away at the stony substance of her soul. Such destructive forces inevitably left her bruised and weaker—not emboldened or stronger or more able to love. In her immutable form, she was incapable of molding herself to fit the needs of those around her. Others got close enough to touch her and some even attempted to mold themselves to her form in order to form an attachment with her, but those efforts were typically short-lived and fleeting. Relationship required adaptation she simply wasn't capable of.

_You are the only exception_

Overwhelmed even dreaming about it, Temperance closed her eyes and braced for the thoughts that now flooded her already overcrowded brain too quickly. Somehow in her dream she was able to see as if her eyes hadn't been squeezed tightly closed. She had been able to view the row of boxes running just above the center of the wall. Those drawers had been a surprising pale, nearly translucent pink—a strange color to have represented the men with whom she'd attempted serious or near-serious relationships. Most of those men were strong and intelligent—Brennan would never have wasted time considering a mate who could not keep up with her stride for stride whether it were physically or mentally. Had she been able to choose a color for these boxes, she'd have selected a cobalt blue or a shade of green pulled from raw nature to represent their strength and attractiveness.

Hesitantly, she surveyed these drawers carefully, experiencing more significant pain along with memory with each box as she moved slowly from left to right examining them. There had been approximately eight boxes in the row. Brennan had regrets about the way some but not all of those relationships had ended. She ran her fingertips lightly along the boxes as she considered each man's strengths and weaknesses as well as the reasons those relationships had fallen apart. She paused and opened some of the drawers, revisiting the memories of each man with differing degrees of sentiment or regret or disappointment. With tears in her eyes in the dream, she had stared at the contents of Sully's drawer longer than most. She'd never looked back on her relationship with him for more than a few moments at a time. She still wasn't entirely certain why she hadn't followed him out onto the ocean. She still missed him and the carefree way that she'd been able to behave when she'd been with him. But for the first time since he had left, she was now able to look down at their relationship without doubting that she'd made the right choice. She was able to be happy that Sully had found happiness if not love aboard the boat bearing her name as it drifted across the beautiful blue of the Caribbean ocean aimlessly or in ways designed to earn enough money to pay for bare essentials. A bit afraid of the shift in her angst over her memories of him, she slipped the drawer back into place slowly and took several steps back as if to protect herself.

_You are the only exception_

From a greater distance, Temperance was now able to gain a different perspective on the collective nature of her emotions and her relationships. The evidence now presented itself in that blatant, irrefutable way that the bones on her examining room often spoke to her. In that fleeting moment, a solitary, mind-bending thought registered with her. There was an exception to the pattern she'd been observing. There was one person who had stood beside her through all manner of difficult circumstances and arguments that had seemed critical at the time and through dangers and tears and through the happy times. He—unlike the others—had refused to leave or to accept being kept at a safe distance. That person had never demanded that she change more dramatically than she had been able at the time. He had questioned her endlessly, ruthlessly—even painfully so—and she knew that he expected more from her than anyone else and, at times, more than she had been able to deliver, but he had remained ever there, ever constant, ever in her corner, ever caring for her and acting in her best interests.

As she surveyed the metaphorical drawers of her emotional life, Brennan's powers of organization and analysis painted vivid images of the attachments she'd formed with those closest to her. In that moment of clarity, she saw for perhaps the first time that one person had more drawers—far more than any other. This person's drawers surrounded all of the others completely and filled in the gaps between them. Each drawer was filled with mementos and memories. There had been a drawer for their partnership down in the right corner. That large, overfilled drawer was packed full of the solid reminders of their partnership and the significance and solidity of that fundamental relationship. Atop that drawer was another similarly-sized drawer of friendship. That drawer held images of Smurfs and pigs and time spent sitting atop cars staring at the stars or eating Thai food or drinking or even dancing. That drawer was the most full of them all—it had been stuffed to overflowing with emotional memorabilia from the years their friendship had grown and prospered. There were other drawers of different colors marked with his name—drawers for what she'd absorbed from him in times spent teaching and learning, drawers for conclusions about the nature of people had been reached and consolation obtained when debating philosophy and religion and psychology with him. There were also drawers filled with feelings of loyalty and sacrifice and laughter and sadness.

But the drawer that now drew her complete attention was the one at the center of the wall of emotions and memories. This particular drawer was tinted a dark black, and it was made of a softer material than the rest. Unlike others bearing his name which appeared to be stuffed to the point of overflowing, this drawer appeared to be sealed and unreachable so that its contents could not be known. Considering the image as a whole, Temperance realized that most of the drawers of her evidence of relationship showed signs of use. Some were half-open, others were scratched or worn, but that one—the one in the center was pushed in completely. It hadn't even been pulled out to be flush with the edge of the cabinet that held it. This box—unlike the others—was locked away safe and sound. This box had not been disturbed. Ever the curious scientist, Brennan examined it more closely.

In her dream-filled mind, she reached forward to grasp the handle of what appeared to be an untouchable drawer. As her hand wrapped around the handle and pulled firmly, she braced herself for what might become visible. As her eyes beheld the contents of the box, she gasped and slammed the drawer back into place quickly. Her breathing labored both in and out of sleep, she sank to her knees in her dream, unable to bear the weight of what she had seen.

Temperance woke with a start, her hand clutching at her wildly beating heart and still unnerved by the clear images from her vivid dream. She sighed… she'd never been convinced that dreams meant anything significant. She'd done enough reading to have formed a basic understanding of psychologists' methods for studying dreams, but she had dismissed that science as unreliable as the overall practice of psychology.

Trying to calm herself and to dismiss the dream from her agitated mind, Temperance realized that she now lacked equilibrium. She sighed. Perhaps that was it. Booth had disrupted their equilibrium. She wasn't actually emotionally upset by that so much as she was thrown off balance by the disruption of the natural order of things. Through her dream, her scientific mind had been investigating the force that threw her off balance in an attempt to restore the harmony of an unchanging environment in which she felt safe and comfortable and able to operate in predictable ways.

She swallowed hard as she realized that she wasn't thinking entirely rationally. Anthropology was grounded in the reality that everything changes and that human beings—the most advanced of all living organisms-- adapt to their environments or flee from them in order to survive the changes that nature consistently wrought upon them. For ages she could recite without thinking, people and societies unwilling to adapt or change had typically been pushed aside or fell victim to their own rigidity. They had been defeated, killed, removed from their place of power or distinction. Temperance considered that she was not that hopelessly rigid in her beliefs. While she was inordinately consistent and rational by nature as well as experience, she had changed significantly over the last several years—forging relationships with friends and family and allowing her mind (and her heart) to enable those relationships to affect her life and her work. Given the considerable change she'd experienced, she should have felt proud or accomplished. Why was it that she did not? Why did she feel more incompetent and less successful and more frustrated with her inability to be a complete, whole, emotional being?

_I've got a tight grip on reality,_

_but I can't let go of what's part of me here._

_I know you're leaving in the morning, when you wake up,_

_leave me with some kind of proof it's not a dream._

_You are the only exception_

_You are the only exception _

_You are the only exception_

Exhausted from self-analysis and shocking dream but not tired enough to go back to sleep, Brennan now carefully considered her partner's actions and words from the evening before afresh. Had she been objective, she'd have realized that her instantaneous return to thoughts of her partner held great significance. But she was too distracted by her need to prove that her feelings had no significance to notice that they were shaping her current mental research. Single-mindedly focused on her process, Temperance noted that Booth had followed her the previous evening; he had spoken reassuring words to her, he had even hugged her tightly—none of those things had been selfish or helpful to him in any way. Booth had not been functioning in order to ensure his survival—he had been risking his own safety in order to protect her emotional well being. She strongly suspected that all of his actions that evening had brought him considerable pain.

When she asked herself—the ultimate survivor--if she would have done any of those things for him in the same circumstance, she posited that she would have—doing what she could do to help him or save him from pain was not optional. It was instinctive when it came to dealing with him—with him alone. She knew that she wouldn't have managed those tasks as gracefully as he had, but she'd have done what she could. That always seemed to be enough for him. The realization that she now seemed programmed to act in the interests of another's emotional safety instead of for her own self-preservation was shocking to her. It ran counter to her innate need to protect herself from attachments that might be to her detriment.

_You are the only exception_

_You are the only exception_

_You are the only exception _

_You are the only exception_

In what she would later insist had been the muddled thoughts of a woman on the heels of a disorienting dream, Temperance Brennan felt more than thought about her dream and its significance and of Booth's encouragement and support earlier the evening before. Unaccustomed to speaking much to her at all, her own heart said loudly and boldly that she was still more to Booth than his partner and friend. Against all odds and despite the pain it brought him, Booth had been acting toward her as a lover would have. He'd reached out to her, ignoring his own pain, to try to encourage and console her. She'd felt his internal struggle as he'd held her close, now realizing even more clearly how physically and emotionally risky and heartwrenching it had been for him to put himself in such close proximity to the object of his unrequited love.

But that was not the thought that paralyzed the genius as she lie there contemplating the current state of her partnership and her friendship with Booth. As her mind dissected and evaluated the dream from all possible angles even while the evening at the diner with Booth replayed its mind in another part of her oversized brain, her heart yelled out in a voice that silenced her mind and that gained her full, if wary, attention. Something clicked, something shifted, and something happened that rocked her to her core.

Taking a moment to walk back through her own thoughts and actions and feelings that night and the ones she'd had ever since Booth's profession of hope for their future, Temperance Brennan's heart now spoke to her in a voice full of consolation and support. It had been purely rational for Booth to behave in her best interests and as a lover would have. He loved her. He admitted that he loved her. He'd told her that he'd loved her for years. So his actions had not been uncharacteristic or even impossible to anticipate. What had been truly and utterly shocking had been her response to the entire situation. She now had one theory—one she'd wish to be able to disprove in order to preserve the order of her environment. There was only one possible explanation for her behavior, her actions, her emotions, and her unrest.

What she'd felt for Sully had been real, and she'd regretted not giving things with them a chance to unfold. But her regrets had been primarily those of a woman worrying that she might have left herself unnecessarily stunted by missed opportunity. She'd missed Sully, but she'd moved on. She'd been able to process and to compartmentalize her feelings for him and to pack them away carefully in a drawer. What she had not been able to do and what she feared she might not ever now be able to do was to do the same thing with Booth.

_You are the only exception_

Her breathing unsteady and her pulse racing, tears filled Brennan's eyes as she closed them and vaulted the tears down her flushed cheeks. She swallowed hard and allowed memories of her dream rush back toward the forefront of her mind. Blessed by a memory able to recall even dreams in significant detail, she lay there overwhelmed. She remembered quite clearly what had made her wake up. As she had touched that small box in the center of the wall representing her emotional life, the color of the drawer had changed rapidly from a deep black to a glorious red. With every centimeter she'd pulled the drawer from the wall, the rows and columns of all of the other drawers had all changed color. They had merged somehow. It made sense in her dream, but there was no easy way to understand or to explain the merger of her emotions and attachments into one continuous object. There had been absolute harmony and peace in the arrangement of the drawers when her hand had rested upon that drawer in the center.

_And I'm on my way to believing_

What had disturbed Temperance more than the symbolism of the dream had been the contents of the drawer. It hadn't been flowers or poetry or even a picture of the man whose name emblazoned the façade of the drawer when she had touched it. No, the drawer she had opened only once had contained a human brain. While that unexpected image would have been surprising to anyone, Brennan had scrutinized it closely—she was programmed to be unable to view human bones or body parts without a certain level of curiosity. In her dream, she'd been able to see closely enough that it had been her own brain—a very large, healthy brain with a small card identifying it as her own. The card had been inscribed in her handwriting, labeled with her name and covered with additional text written in smaller print beneath it.

"There's only one logical explanation. There's only one exception to your need for logic and order and reason. There's more than enough evidence to support your decision. You have every reason to believe."

That message was so blatant and literal that even the skeptic could not dismiss its psychological significance. But even attempting to consider that the words on that card might be true shook her to her core and sent shivers down her spine.

_And I'm on my way to believing_

The sound of the alarm clock pulled Brennan from her flurry of thoughts and feelings about the dream. Eager for a distraction and determined to put these disconcerting images out of her mind so that she could go to the lab, she slipped from the bed and made her way into her shower.

Although she had been able to shake off the major effects of the dream, she had not been able to rid her mind of her partner. As she prepared for the day, her mind kept wandering as if of its own accord to thoughts of her partner and concern for whether he'd been able to rest the previous evening. A bit embarrassed and more than a bit on edge just thinking about him given what she feared might be the message from her vivid dream, she realized that she almost dreaded his morning visit to the lab. That feeling of unease gave her all the more reason to hurry to the lab early to give her time to strategize about how to deal with him and how to learn to ignore the odd thwump her heart now made whenever she thought about Booth.

Amazing lyrics from "The Only Exception" performed by Paramore

_**[A/N: Like I said, I laughed at the detour in style and subject matter this chapter took. I can't explain it. I just hope it wasn't too bizarre to fit with the rest of the story. Now I can get back to that chapter I had been writing… Whew….]**_


	9. Chapter 9

_**[A/N: I'd never promise "light and fluffy," but this chapter is a bit less heavy than some I write. Hope you enjoy the change of pace. If you've been reading, you know that I am clearly not a scientist. All definitions are based on those cited on Dictionary-dot-com's Web site. I intend to use all scientific terms loosely.**_

_**Happy Bones Finale Day! Has anyone posted a countdown clock for the S6 premiere? Do I even want to know how long this summer of reruns will be?**_

_**Thanks again for reading this story!]**_

**Chapter Nine: Three Fundamental Forces of Nature**

**"Gravitation cannot be held responsible for people falling in love." – Albert Einstein**

_(1) Gravitational Force__: __the force of attraction between all masses in the universe._

Seeley Booth had always been able to feel it when someone had been looking at him. Years of worrying that he'd done something to tick off his father combined with years of defending Jared against the enemies he'd regularly made followed by military training and time spent at the bureau had only honed those natural abilities. That's why, before Booth had even been fully awake, he'd known that someone had been observing him. Lying completely still with his eyes still closed, Booth tried to determine where he was. He knew instantly that he wasn't at home. This wasn't his apartment; the sounds and smells were all different. The ache in his back made it clear that this definitely wasn't Bones' sofa. Hers was much more comfortable for sleeping than this one. This one had the feel of high quality fabric, but it was sort of stiff and not meant to support a muscular man for an entire night's sleep. It felt more like something you should sit on during a party than something you should spend an entire night sleeping on.

Allowing himself to wake slowly in order to delay facing the wrath of whomever he'd barged in on the evening before, Booth wiggled his toes and fingers and slowly rolled over. Then he stretched his arms high above his head so that he could begin working out the kinks now firmly set in his back.

As he extended the stretch and let it wake him, he was startled by the sound of a woman's satisfied "mmmm... hmmmm...." His eyes flew open and he looked around quickly to find the source of that approving sound.

When he realized that Cam's daughter Michelle was standing across the room leering at him as if he were some hunk of meat, Booth yanked the blanket up over his naked chest and scrambled into a sitting position, making certain that had his pants on. Damn, it was just his boxers. He couldn't quite remember, but he suspected that he'd stripped down to his boxers sometime during the night in an attempt to get comfortable. Thank goodness he hadn't pulled off his boxers along with everything else.

"Um... Michelle... Shouldn't you be at school already or something?" he asked, trying to sound as authoritative as possible.

"You and Cam used to date, right?" Michelle asked. She continued to ogle him and spoke without waiting for an answer, "You had to be the one to dump her, right?"

Booth furrowed his brow and then spoke in a voice hoarse from drink and lack of sleep, "Michelle, Cam and I are just friends. I know she has a boyfriend. I just slept on the sofa because I'd had one beer too many. And I am not discussing our past with you."

"Mmhmmm," Michelle purred again, still staring at his body and drooling over his appearance.

Booth grabbed his t-shirt and pulled it on quickly. He knew that he was the adult in this situation and that she was just a kid. But he was very uncomfortable with the expression on Michelle's face. On an older woman, that expression might have been a turn on. On Cam's kid, it just plain gave him the creeps.

Michelle wandered around the room keeping her eyes on him. She sauntered as if adult thoughts were definitely on her mind, "I just don't get it. Robert's a nice guy, but... I don't see how Cam or anyone else could stop dating anyone who looks like you do in your boxers."

"You, young lady, are too young to be talking about me—or any other guy—like that."

"I am not too young to appreciate what I see, Uncle Booth."

Now horrified, Booth leapt up and grabbed his jeans, pulling them on hastily behind the sofa and turning his back to fasten them. Despite the lurch of his stomach and the throbbing of his headache because of his quick action, Booth continued, "Uncle Booth... emphasis on the 'Uncle.' Cut it out, Michelle. This is inappropriate."

"What's inappropriate is Cam turning down such a fine specimen..."

"That's it, young lady. You are grounded!" _Wow where the hell had that come from?_

Michelle was as shocked hearing those words as Booth had been saying them, "Grounded? You can't ground me! I haven't done anything! You're the one walking around naked looking like that."

"I was not naked, and you are way out of line."

"Well, you still can't ground me. Cam won't do it."

Now that he was fully clothed, Booth felt more comfortable taking charge of the situation, "Well you see, Michelle, there are some benefits of remaining friends with people you used to date. Cam will listen to me. She'll trust me on this. And you will be home and pouting about being grounded by the time school is out."

"You know what? You're mean! And you can find you own way to the office. Cam had asked me to drive you to your car, but I'm not doing any favors for anyone who tries to get me grounded!" And with that, Michelle turned and grabbed her backpack before bolting from the apartment.

Booth sighed. It was going to be a long day. It had been a long day already.

_(2) Electromagnetic Force:__the fundamental force that is associated with electric and magnetic fields and is responsible for atomic structure, chemical reactions, the attractive and repulsive forces associated with electrical charge and magnetism, and all other electromagnetic phenomena. _

Later that morning, Booth showed up at the lab looking as if he'd either had more to drink than he actually had or that he'd slept on Cam's floor instead of the sofa. The quick shower and change had done nothing to take the edge off of the after effects of the prior evening. To his surprise, Bones had said nothing when he popped his head into her office. Surprised by her silence, he stood there wishing his head weren't aching so that he could get a better read on her mood after their discussion the night before. Still strangely silent, Bones walked up to him and handed him a cup of coffee. In his bleary-eyed state of semi-consciousness he spoke almost without thinking, "I love...," he coughed and sputtered for a moment, hoping that Bones would think he had burned his mouth on the hot beverage, "Coffee. Man, do I love coffee." He was mortified that he had almost told her he loved her just because she'd given him a cup of joe. He did love her, of course, but he knew that now would not be the time to make that profession. He made a mental note to make sure that those words were no longer an automatic response once his head stopped aching as if a jackhammer were invading it from all directions.

In his disoriented state, he didn't even realize that Bones had left him temporarily. She returned and handed him some aspirin. He took them from her and smiled at her weakly through his headache. They moved slowly to the platform as he washed the pills down with the coffee. Despite her obvious focus on her work, he could tell that Bones had adjusted her gait to allow him to move more slowly than usual.

"See there, Bones. This is symbiotic. Your brain tells you that I need coffee, and my gut is really grateful. You bring me aspirin for my headache. Your brain and my gut—they're going places."

"Donut?" she asked, offering him two of his favorites in hopes that he'd stop talking about the future. She just wanted to work and have things be normal.

"You got me donuts? Aww… thanks, Bones!"

While his enthusiastic thanks was usually heartwarming, today it had a more unsettling effect on her. She dodged his sincerity in favor of an attempt at humor, "Nothing says 'I think fondly of my partner than a confectionary treat full of three times the daily allowance of saturated fat and overly processed sugar.'"

"Funny… that's really funny, Bones. Man, this donut is… Are there more?"

"Here, have half my bagel."

"Bagels are not donuts. Bagels are boring. Bones and her boring bagels," he mused aloud.

"Are you still intoxicated?"

"No. Well... I may have been last night. Wait... how can you tell?"

"Anyone looking at you today can tell, Booth," she whispered, her tone betraying her concern for him.

_Crap, Seeley. Don't go there. Don't let things get awkward._ "No worries, Bones. The beer just tasted too good last night."

She gave him a look that made it obvious that she wasn't sure she should buy his cover story.

"Trust me. I'm fine. These donuts are awesome."

When Booth's phone rang, he jumped as if startled and then raised a hand to rub his forehead to ease the pulsing there. Grimacing from even that soft ring, he immediately turned the phone to vibrate and walked away to take the call, talking with half a donut still in his mouth. As he was finishing up, Brennan moved to continue her work examining the remains. She hadn't been completely focused on her work; she couldn't help noticing that Cam had interrupted Booth as he walked back up to the platform.

Brennan silenced the twinges of discomfort she felt as Cam pulled Booth across the lab to a more private spot before she began talking to him. She found it uncomfortable to continue observing their intimate exchange. Brennan suspected that the conversation had something to do with the chat she'd had with Michelle earlier that morning. Remembering that conversation vividly, the knot in her stomach now rolled around angrily.

Frustrated by her inability to keep her attention elsewhere, Temperance cringed as she watched Cam place a supportive hand on Booth's arm. She literally ached when she saw him throw an arm around Cam's shoulder, plant a kiss on her cheek, and say something funny that made Cam laugh and that made Booth cringe because of her noisy outburst. For a split second, Brennan was jealous. Where that feeling had come from, Brennan had no idea. She'd never felt this way when Booth and Cam were dating before. If they were reviving that relationship, it shouldn't bring her any pain. As his partner, she knew that his relationships were none of her business. As his friend, she knew that she should be happy for Booth. He'd told her he was moving on. They'd spent weeks... months apart from one another. That was plenty of time for something to have started. Booth had been gracious taking the time to talk to her about things now that they were working together again, but he'd already moved on. The rational thing to do was to be happy for him. Only today she wasn't feeling entirely rational. That was always a dangerous thing.

Caught up in her thoughts, she flinched when Booth walked up behind her and peered over her shoulder. He'd invaded her personal space in doing so. She could feel his breath glance off her cheek as he tried to see what she was doing. He'd done things like that too many times to count, but this particular time, she'd found it frustrating. She barked at him to be careful not to compromise the evidence. He apologized, backed away, and shot her a strange look. Then, hoping to find a way to mend things between them, he offered her the latest news from his office.

"Charlie has located a member of a gang Lieutenant Forster was tracking when she went missing. This guy left the gang several years ago—we're going to wait to haul in current members all at one time, but we're going to question this guy first. The interview is at 10 in the morning. You want in?"

"Yes. I'll be there."

"Good. That's good. Any new evidence here?"

As she turned to point out the findings from their work, Dr. Saroyan walked up onto the platform to hear the latest news. Concerned for Booth given his obvious hangover and the likelihood that he might also be uncomfortable dealing with the woman who'd driven him to drink, Cam instinctively moved closer to Booth for support. Ironically, Brennan took more notice of Cam's proximity to her partner than he did.

Opting as usual for the entirely scientific when emotions threatened to overtake her, Brennan explained that Angela and Wendell had identified what appeared to be an oval and a straight line of bruising on the young victim's chest. Brennan explained that they were researching the matter further but that the symbol could be a number "1." She also told him that this victim had died from the beating he'd received and that the other injuries he'd sustained had occurred postmortem.

Booth had been more than satisfied with the new evidence and thanked Brennan for it. They continued debating bits and pieces of evidence, making decent progress despite having little to go on. Caught up in one of those effective yet publicly intimate exchanges, the partners hadn't realized that everyone else had left them alone on the platform. Brennan was the first to take notice when she watched Dr. Saroyan walk away. She'd been struck again by what felt like another pang of what--in anyone else--would have been deemed jealousy. To camouflage that fact, she put up a strong, supportive front and decided to be straightforward and stop avoiding the issue.

_(3) Nuclear Force__: __Strong interaction._

Nodding toward Cam as she walked away from the platform, Brennan said, "I'm happy for you both."

"What?"

"You and Cam. I'm glad that you've found someone. She's strong and compassionate. You two have a great deal in common. I'm happy for you."

Booth's head pounded harder as he struggled to deal with his partner's misconceptions, "Bones...."

"But I'd be careful if I were you. Anthropologically speaking, Michelle will resent you if you try to parent her. History has shown that stepparents are better off behaving more as friends or perhaps as a doting relative. You should let Cam be the parent. Don't try to replace Michelle's father."

"Whoa... stepparents? What in the hell are you talking about?"

"Michelle told me that you told her she was grounded. She also informed me that you're living there. How did she say it? Oh, yes. She said that you were walking around 'blissfully naked' in their apartment. You should probably make it a practice to be fully clothed when you're outside Cam's bedroom."

"What? Jeez, Bones. First off, I was not naked."

Thrown off kilter by uninvited yet amazingly realistic mental images of Booth as naked as Michelle had described, Brennan continued quickly as if Booth weren't trying to talk with her. "And then she and I discussed your relationship with Cam. I had to agree with her, Booth. Given your personality and your appealing build and your... abdominal muscles, Michelle was right--Cam was crazy to let you get away the first time."

In her anger and frustration, Michelle had rushed to the lab only to learn that Cam had been in a meeting. Needing something to do while she waited, Michelle had wandered to Brennan's office. The two orphans had bonded over time, and Michelle often sought Temperance's guidance on matters she was uncomfortable discussing with Cam. Dr. Brennan wasn't good with advice about people, but she had been a great help weighing the pros and cons of other decisions. After ranting to Brennan that she had no idea that her partner was "so mean!," Michelle had relayed the events of the morning and made mention of Cam's previous relationship with Booth in a way that had inadvertently made it sound current. Already thrown off by the possibility that Booth really might be dating Cam, Brennan had made an incorrect assumption that he now was. Once that assumption had taken hold, she'd clung to it as much to guard her own heart as anything.

Had Booth not already had a headache, he'd have gotten one by now, "Look, Bones. You and Michelle have no business discussing my social life... or my abdominal... my abdomen."

His sensitivity about the subject served to convince Brennan that she was approaching the truth. She tried to sound matter-of-fact about this relationship. She had a feeling that she would need practice sounding as if she weren't concerned at all about it, "Well, when you're in a relationship with a co-worker whose teenager frequents the office, you can't expect the subject not to come up."

After looking around to make certain that nobody was close enough to hear them, Booth moved closer to her and whispered, "Cam and I are not in a relationship."

Without flinching, Brennan continued, "Oh, well, given your history, I suppose that it's reasonable that you and Cam have opted for fringed benefits instead."

"What?"

"Benefits... Fringed benefits on top of your friendship..."

"Are you talking about being friends with benefits?"

"Oh. Yes. I suppose I am. I'm glad that you've found a friend with benefits."

"Bones, you've got this all wrong."

She would not stand for his expressing concern for her over this development. It was all she could do to deal with the news. Handling sympathy from him for her "loss" was simply asking too much, so she redirected the conversation. "Booth, you don't have to hide this from me. I'm happy for you. I only want your happiness."

"I'm not hiding things! I wasn't naked. I was in my boxers," Booth whispered, his voice now taking on a tone of extreme frustration, "I told Michelle she was grounded because she wouldn't stop looking at my body and talking about it."

"Michelle is a teenager. She's genetically programmed to seek out compatible sexual partners...."

"She's a kid, Bones. It was creepy the way she was looking at me. You should not be encouraging that sort of talk with children."

Frustrated with how close her partner had moved to her as he had defended himself and suddenly uneasy about how well she could identify with Michelle's attraction to him, Brennan took the conversation on an entirely dangerous turn. She'd intended to use a reference to sex to stop him from talking with her. That was a typical conversation-stopper with him. Suspecting that he'd be even more uncomfortable discussing sexual relations now that he was dating Cam again, she could only hope that he'd get frustrated and leave. But she hadn't anticipated the turn the conversation would take.

"Well, Dr. Saroyan is a grown woman, and you would make a logical, rational choice for a mate. Michelle may be a child, but I'm not. I am perfectly capable of judging a person's desirability and of pursuing a physical connection. I admitted that I was drawn to you physically when we first met. And over the years, I have... on other occasions... considered pursuing a strictly physical relationship with you."

"Ok, this..." Booth said gesturing between them awkwardly and starting to perspire. "This conversation cannot happen."

"What? It's widely acknowledged that you're handsome and in commendable physical condition, and I'm desirable and quite accomplished sexually speaking. It's only logical that I considered propositioning you."

Too mortified to appreciate the loaded compliment, Booth continued, "Bones, really... Cut it out. We are not having this conversation."

"Why not? I know that you wanted to have sex with me before you started dating Cam," she said boldly as if she were discussing the weather or 1,000-year-old bones.

"Shhhh.... Keep it down, will you? This is way past inappropriate."

"What? We're adults having a stimulating conversation. There's nothing inappropriate about that."

Booth glared at her as if that would stop her from harassing him and whispered, "Enough with the S-E-X talk already."

"Booth, everyone here can spell that three-letter word."

"I know that, Bones. I'm just trying to be discreet here."

"I know that you have antiquated ideas about relationships and intercourse, but you are an alpha male in prime physical condition. Admit it. You have thought often about having sex with me, too."

Booth wanted to die. He really did. This was the most cruel form of torture. Dealing with this uncomfortable situation with a hangover the size of Manhattan was unendurable. He couldn't lie to Bones, but it really was supremely unfair that he should be forced to have this discussion with her at all—much less out in the open at their place of work. He tried to ignore her in vain hopes that she'd lose interest or become distracted by the evidence and stop talking altogether.

"Does Hodgins have any results on those last tests on the particulates from the third victim?" Booth asked, hoping to lure her away from torturing him by focusing her on her beloved science.

Nearly smiling at his obvious discomfort, Brennan decided to continue the conversation, "Talking about desires you had before you started dating Dr. Saroyan is not cheating on her, Booth. You wanted to have intercourse with me when we first met. I will admit that I am older now, but I am healthy and have not aged to an extent that would lessen my desirability. In fact," she continued with a coy expression, "I suspect the experience would be even more rewarding now that I'm approaching my sexual prime."

He simply couldn't take it anymore. She was standing there taunting him with that expression that made him want her even more. He was certain that she was not manipulating him on purpose. From anyone else, this would have been a premeditated attempt to flirt madly just to tease him or to lure him into her office for sex. But from Bones, it was just her never-ending search for facts leading her to the truth. Constrained by her past, she simply wasn't equipped with the filters to stop herself from taking conversations into forbidden territory. She had no concept of political correctness, tact, or reserve. She simply asked the questions that came to mind—not unkindly but without regard for the impact they had on others. Yet even knowing that Bones wasn't trying to drive him to seduce her didn't stop Booth from responding to the way that she was driving him absolutely crazy.

Without another word, he yanked her elbow hard, pulling her toward him. Holding her arm in a vice grip, he led her off the platform, down the hallway, and into her office, ignoring her protests and her wriggling to escape him all the way.

Once inside her office, he slammed the door and pressed her back against it, pinning her there with his body though not quite touching it. Even though he was still some microscopic distance away from her, the air between them was filled with heat and desire and more than a bit of fear. Placing his palms flat against the door near her head to brace himself and to keep him from touching her in his current agitated state, Booth stared at her for a long moment.

Temperance was breathing hard and failing to succeed in calming herself down. Booth was so close that she could feel his stilted breaths caress her face. Being this close to her partner in such a sexually charged situation was overpowering. Ever since that dream, she'd struggled to deal with being near him. The persona she assigned to Booth had been partner and then trusted friend. Aside from those few select kisses that had led nowhere, he'd always obeyed the limits those roles provided—keeping his distance as a partner and only getting close enough for "guy hugs" as her friend. For the first time she could remember, she was now struggling not to identify with Booth simply as a man. Being confronted with his body so near made the fact that he was a beautiful, vital man nearly impossible to ignore. Booth exuded alpha male strength and capability at all times—up close and personal it was simply too sexy to withstand. She looked up at him—suddenly as afraid that he might not kiss her as that he would. She watched the flare of physical attraction burn brightly in those chocolate brown eyes she adored. Lust lit them up and added a touch of caramel to their color making them even more entrancing. And when he looked at her the way he was now, his eyes said things that his mouth wouldn't dare try to explain to her.

Or so she had thought.

She tried to speak, needing more than wanting to extract herself from the delicate situation, but his eyes held her there as if she were truly physically immobilized. He looked away for a moment to gather his thoughts and then brought his raging brown eyes back to focus on her dazzled blue ones.

"The sex talk stops—right... now...," he said in a hoarse whisper.

She was silenced by the heat of his stare.

"You can't turn down a relationship and then stir the sex pot.... Not with me. You have to stop."

Brennan started to speak but felt her voice choke off when he glared at her for considering it.

"You treat me as if I'm old-fashioned and chaste or something. Well, I'm not.... Not at all."

Brennan felt as if her heart had started beating wildly like a tribal drum. Normally she'd have recalled which specific instrument she'd heard beat that rapidly on a dig in an African country, but at the moment, her brain had literally stopped and focused completely on her partner. Given his effect on her, she couldn't have even found Africa on a map.

"Cam and I are not in a relationship. But that's not the main problem here. For some insane reason, you seem to be hell-bent on hypothesizing about what it would be like if we had sex. Well, I don't need to wonder... I don't need to think... I know, Bones. I know that if we had sex, it would be incredible. I know that like you know your bones," he husked, clearly struggling to grasp tightly to what remained of his self-control. Brennan's heart was beating so loudly that she wondered how she could hear him talking.

"I also know that you haven't ever made love the way that we'd make love, Temperance. I would consume you, take more from you than you'd ever offer anyone and give you more of myself than you could handle. I also know that, if you and I were to take that step, the sex would be so mind-blowing and life-altering that you'd be the one asking me for a relationship—not the other way around."

Brennan felt the last of the air squeak out of her lungs but she really didn't care. Booth was intoxicating when he was wound up like this and pressed so close to her. This was a side of him he'd kept well-hidden from her until this moment. Given the near heart palpitations she was experiencing under his smoldering gaze, she also suspected that he was absolutely right about the way that things would play out. "But...."

"If...," he began but then paused to consider her reaction to his words thus far. Screw it, she'd started this. "When we make love, it will be something that neither one of us could walk away from without consequences. I couldn't give that much of myself to you and have you turn away from it. Having sex would be a partnership-altering course of action, Bones. And talking about it the way you have been is pushing both of us in that direction--fast. So unless you're willing to back up your big talk and experiment with a helluva lot more than just our hormones, Bones, you'd better back the hell off and stop talking about my body and my sex life."

She swallowed hard and stared up at him, amazed by how clearly she could read his want of her on his beautifully flushed, handsome face, "Okay."

"Okay?" he asked in a now-shaky voice, surprised by the way that she caved to his demands.

"I understand," she half-gulped, still shaken by his words and the promises they conveyed to her body and her mind. She watched virtual doors close in his brain as he backed away from the edge of giving in to his passion. She felt colder with each passing moment after seeing a glimpse of the heat he'd kept hidden away for so long.

Without another word, Booth pushed away from the door and paced for a long moment. Then, sitting on the edge of her desk, he said softly. "Look Bones, this thing... this can of worms I opened after we talked to Sweets? You're just gonna have to shove it into a storage drawer and lock it up tight, okay?"

"What?" she barely choked out in a whisper. His choice of eerily timed metaphor sent chills down her spine.

"Just compartmentalize like you always do. Lock this up in a drawer—that's what you do, right? Put this whole thing in one of your boxes or drawers or whatever kinds of compartments you use. Just lock this whole thing up and throw away the key or something. I know I started it, and I'm sorry that it's upset both of us. But you not being able to deal with me like you normally do is affecting my ability to deal with you. For the sake of our partnership, Bones, please just store this away for now. We need to be able to do our jobs."

She nodded, willing the tears to refrain from filling her eyes.

"Can you... can you give me just a minute?" he asked, looking the worse for wear having allowed her to see how much he craved more than just her companionship.

"Certainly," she whispered, turning and leaving the room.


	10. Chapter 10

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_**[A/N: Thanks very much for your supportive reviews! I'm glad that last chapter was received so well. It was very fun to write. This one changes tempo a bit for very good reasons. **_

_**I need to ask you to overlook my foray here into another unchartered world. Aside from my wonderful friends who happen to be Korean, I know very little about that fine culture or its language. I just randomly picked that ethnic group for part of this story—no disrespect or dishonor intended. It's just meant to be a bit of background information, so if that choice offends you, by all means mentally assign the gang to another heritage or skip over those parts entirely.**_

**I am already missing looking forward to new Bones on TV. I have a feeling it will be a very long summer.] **

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Chapter 10: Unspeakable Secrets

_Broken sticks and broken stones  
Will turn to dust just like our bones  
It's words that hurt the most now isn't it  
_

Without telling anyone where she was going, Brennan rushed out of her office and walked down the stairs and out of the lab, ignoring each and every person who tried to stop her along the way. She knew that her partner needed some time to quieting his raging hormones and to calm down, but she suspected that he had absolutely no understanding of the overwhelming challenge she now had to face. With her eyes opened, all she could feel was Booth's breath and heat and energy still somehow surrounding and enveloping her, and every time she closed her eyes, the image from her dream was staring back at her with the drawer in the center now pulled out into the open and completely transformed-now gleaming a bright red as if to mock both of them.

_Are you sad inside, are you home alone_  
_If I could just pick up the phone_  
_Maybe you could see a better day_

About fifteen minutes after his partner had left him alone in her office, Booth decided that he had to make himself go out and face things with Bones again. He didn't feel prepared, but he knew that he had to man-up and deal with this. He could only hope that Bones would be completely in science mode and that working with her would be easier. That, or he'd make a quick exit and come up with Plan B. But it was time to face things head on. He wasn't built for hiding—not even from something as extreme as what had almost happened between him and his partner. He knew full well how whisper-close he'd been to crossing a line that might have broken both of them.

_And you won't waste away_  
_under my watchful eye_  
_Because I'm your hero and you're my weakness_

When Booth opened the door to Bones' office to re-enter the real world, Angela was standing there glaring at him.

"Hold it right there, Hotness. What did you do?"

"Ange...," Booth said in an apologetic tone. He simply couldn't handle dealing with Angela now. He'd barely pulled himself back together enough to face Bones. He knew that he'd never survive a grilling by Angela.

Not giving him the option to leave unless he went through her, Angela stepped into the room and closed the door. Her eyes continued to bear down on him as he gave in and retreated to the relative safety of the other side of the room. Booth felt confident enough in his ability to take on nearly any man, but he feared Angela more than most men.

Shrugging and walking closer to him, Angela blurted out, "So, how hot was the sex?"

"What?"

"You had sex with Brennan, didn't you?"

"What? No...," he insisted, his voice dragging out his response and trending toward that more nasal tone that always accompanied a lie or an uncomfortable truth.

"Okay, well you must have suggested that you two have sex and then she ran."

"Jeez, if I had sex as much as everybody talks about me having sex, I'd be walking funny," Booth couldn't help wondering aloud.

Angela just looked at him strangely for a long moment. She wanted to make him tell her what he was talking about, but there were bigger issues they needed to resolve.

"Angela, listen... Bones and I are partners. We are not having and have never had... sex." Dammit, spelling that sad fact out that clearly did not improve his mood.

"But we all know that you want to. You've wanted that and more for years. And you sure looked hot and bothered when you pulled her in here. I felt the sexual sparks coming off of you guys from all the way across the lab. It was eerily quiet while you were in here alone together. And then she ran out of here looking like something had happened. And now you look guilty..."

"I'm Catholic. It's what we do."

"Oh, God...," Angela said suddenly, a new idea striking her. She walked over and smacked him on the back of the head without considering the mismatch in size.

"What? Ow!" he howled, bending backward slightly and rubbing his head to alleviate the new throb she'd added to his already massive headache.

Angela put her hands on her hips and glared at the shaken FBI agent, "Tell me you weren't a complete idiot. Tell me you didn't turn HER down when she propositioned you."

"No. Angela. Look. Bones and me, we're fine. Same as always."

"You two haven't been fine in forever. And Bren... she's certainly not fine. She hasn't been for weeks. She's shut me out completely, Booth. She's put up walls that we've spent years breaking down. All she does is work; she barely eats and sleeps. She won't go to lunch, won't go to dinner, and won't talk to me except about work. She's stopped spending time with you. She won't talk to her dad. She hasn't talked to Sweets," Angela confessed, her worry for her friend now completely visible to him.

Booth sighed. Angela was just being a friend to Bones. God knows, Bones needed her since he had made himself a rather dangerous person of late for her to confide in. "She's talked to me a little," he confided quietly. Then, sighing and pacing slowly as he rubbed the back of his neck in a futile attempt to keep the stress from settling there, he continued in a fake optimistic tone, "Bones will be fine. She's tough. Don't worry."

_Who's gonna break my fall_  
_When the spinning starts_  
_The colors bleed together and fade_

"She's not fine. And neither are you. What the hell happened, Booth? You're both acting weird. I'm her best friend. Maybe I can help."

"Ange, I know you're just looking out for her, but I can't talk about it. Bones... she's just dealing with some stuff, but it's stuff I can't talk about. It's confidential stuff I can't tell you because she's my partner. She'll come to you if she needs to talk."

"And you'll tell me if you think she's in trouble... if you think she needs me to intervene?"

"Yeah."

"Booth, do you need to talk? You look like hell... Still handsome and studly, of course, but not your usual self."

"No. Thanks," he said, smiling a crooked smile at her and hoping that he could now escape. "Hey, Ange, I really need to get out there and talk to Bones about the case."

"She's not here."

"What?"

"She left the lab."

"What? When? Right after she was in here? I've gotta go find her," he made for the door. _She was really upset if she'd left the lab. Dammit, I never should have..._

"Stop," Angela said, placing her hand on Booth's chest to stop him from barreling out of the room. "Jack's gone for her. He'll bring her back."

"Oh," Booth said, a portion of the weight of his worry lifted even though he was still bowed from the day's misadventures. He sighed audibly and his shoulders slumped a bit.

"You did do something, didn't you?"

_Was it ever there at all_  
_Or have I lost my way_  
_The path of least resistance_  
_Is catching up with me again today_

__

No answer. Angela's heart broke for him. She'd never seen Booth look this stressed out and guilty-not when he had known that Brennan was alive and safe. She hated to do it, but she felt compelled to tell him why she was so worried, "Booth, she walked right out of here past Cam, ignoring me, and not even seeing her interns. Daisy showed her a bone, and she didn't even pause or say anything about it... A bone! She is physically unable to pass by any bone without noticing it. But she did."

"Oh," he said in a voice much too small for a man of his burly physique. The guilt and worry on his face pulled on her heartstrings. She couldn't bear seeing him that upset.

"Look, whatever you did or said was probably justified. I could see her pushing your buttons out on the platform. You two were whispering and she was daring you to react to the things she was saying. She does that. She pushes people too far. It's the scientist in her studying cause and effect or something. She was clearly baiting you. She must have said something that either turned you on or ticked you off. Or both."

"I...," Booth was beginning to realize that he wasn't going to be able to hide much of anything from Angela. She was too smart and too good at reading people, "Nothing happened, Angela. But I... I might have unloaded on her pretty heavily."

Angela just raised one eyebrow and looked at him with a combination of curiosity and suspicion.

"That was not a Freudian slip, Ange. Get your mind out of the gutter. We're just talking about stuff..., serious... difficult stuff, and Bones just... she pushes, you know? And I let it get to me. I shouldn't have said all of those things..."

"It will be okay, Booth. She knows you. She knows you'd never try to hurt her."

Booth didn't quite look convinced. He shot her a look that said more than he could confess aloud. "I... I've got to get back to the office. Call me when she comes back. Call me if I need to come over. Call me if she... if she's not okay?"

"Sure thing."

Booth got up and made for a quick exit. In the doorway to Bones' office, he turned and looked back at the artist as she watched him leave, "Thanks, Angela."

Over at the National Museum of Art, Temperance Brennan sat on a bench staring at the painting before her. She was examining it closely—as if it held secrets or guidance or wisdom that might help her navigate the jumble of emotions she was feeling. She'd been sitting there nearly an hour transfixed by the image tenderly laid upon the centuries-old canvas.

_I'm broken down, not good enough_  
_The broken promises add up_  
_To twice their weight in tears which I have caused_

On the outside, the anthropologist appeared to be composed, if a bit sad. But on the inside, she was an absolute wreck. At the moment, she felt like a cubist painting. She could have been a work of Picasso or a lesser known artist. She felt as if she had been contorted into abstract art in human form—her brain felt swollen from overactivity, her heart ached in a way that made it seem disproportionate to the rest of her body, her stomach was rolling around in a way that made her feel raw and disconnected. She was so caught up in the way she felt and in staring at the painting that she couldn't even begin to decipher the true feelings causing her current distress. Everything was a blur as if someone had thrown a can of paint across her entire field of vision.

_I'm afraid to sink, I'm afraid to swim_  
_I'm sad to say I miss my friends_  
_I know that I'm supposed to step away_  
_But they need me to stay and keep a watchful eye_  
_On all my heroes and all their demons_

"Dr. B?" Hodgins said quietly, finally opting to speak to her in order to draw the anthropologist from her thoughts. Brennan flinched and then tried to recover her practiced façade of calm and composure, "Hodgins? Why are you here? Was there a break in the case?"

"Uh... no," he admitted, his worry about her evident in his tone.

"Oh," his unspoken sympathy brought tears to her eyes. She hated acknowledging that anyone might have a reason to see her vulnerability or feel sorry for her.

_But who's gonna break my fall_  
_When the spinning starts_

"Dr. Brennan, are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be fine, Dr. Hodgins?" She pretended to blow her nose and then wiped at her eyes to hide any tears that might have been visible.

"Well, you're here in the museum staring at paintings-instead of working."

__

The colors bleed together and fade

"I just needed a moment to clear my head."

"Are you sure that's all?"

"Yes."

"Look. I don't mean to pry or to be disrespectful, but I think it must be more than that."

"No. I enjoy fine art. It relaxes me. I just needed some time to think. This case has been frustrating. You should be back at the lab analyzing the soil and those fibers you found."

"Dr. B, I've been here since you arrived. I probably should have said something sooner, but I wanted to give you some space. You aren't thinking about work."

"I'm always thinking about my work."

"I've seen you here before on three different occasions—after we found your mother, when you thought Booth was dead, and… and when Sully left. You don't come here to think about work."

"You've been stalking me?"

"No... well, not exactly. I come here, too. Being near the paintings made me feel near Ange when she seemed so far away and unreachable. The first time I followed you here—I was just curious about where you were going. You were upset. I just watched to make sure you didn't need a shoulder to cry on."

"Oh."

_Was it ever there at all_  
_Or have I lost my way_  
_The path of least resistance_  
_Is catching up with me again today_

"You only come here and sit still like this when you're upset. You're upset today. I watched you wind through the gallery stopping at specific paintings. You're not thinking about work. Those works of art that caught your eye today are not about science. They're about feelings. Did you choose those paintings consciously or did they just speak to you? Do you realize where you've stopped today at the gallery? First you stopped at The Suitor's Visit. You sat there for hours after Sully left. You stayed a long while today, too. Then you went over to study The Dancing Couple... I saw it, too. I've stared at that painting more times than I can remember. They weren't an obvious match. To anyone else, they looked like Angela and me-two people who looked different and were from completely different worlds. Only they fit together perfectly. They were in love. Just like Angela and me. Just like..."

She turned to look at him with a silent gasp, fear that he might say what she was thinking written clearly on her face.

"My point is... Sometimes the things that seem most improbable work out. You've ended up here staring at the Woman Holding a Balance as if you hope it will give you an answer. Trust me, it won't."

_Not today_  
_Not today_

"I know. It just... it helps to see someone else struggling with something… trying to handle something big and enormous and ominous. It helps to know that other people have been in difficult circumstances," she confessed.

_Was it ever there at all_  
_Or have I lost my way_  
_The path of least resistance_  
_Is catching up with me again today_

"Pardon my for butting in," Dr. Brennan, "but did Sully call or write or something? Is that what's upsetting you?" Hodgins remembered all too well that the last time Brennan and Booth seemed so intense and off their game, Sully had been threatening to break up their partnership.

"No. I haven't heard from Sully in months."

"Oh, well is there a new guy-a guy who's upset you?"

Brennan's eyes fell to her lap for a moment and then she replied sadly, "No. No, Hodgins, there's no new guy." She hated the hollow echo of her own lie. Part of her brain screamed at her that Booth was not a new guy. When had there ever been a new guy to turn her head, stir her heart, make her notice him in the last five years. Sully had come close to distracting her from the one man who was a stable fixture in her life, and she had opted to send him away.

"I don't have time for ephemeral relationships. There's... there's no one." Her heart panged with loneliness long ignored.

"Well, if there were a guy... a guy who hurt your feelings or made you cry... even if he were a big guy-bigger than me... I'd take care of it," Hodgins said chivalrously. They both knew he had been talking about Booth. She smiled. "If there ever is a guy, I'll call you if he gets out of sequence."

"Out of... Oh, you mean out of line."

"Yes. Yes, I do."

Hodgins' heart broke for his boss. She was obviously upset and had no idea how to deal with the conflict raging within, "It does. Dr. Brennan, do you want to talk about what's bothering you? Strictly confidential. I won't even tell Ange about it. I swear."

"No. Thank you, Hodgins, but I can't talk about what's on my mind."

"How about Sweets? Isn't he sworn to secrecy or something?"

"He is. But I'm fine. I just… I just needed a moment." She rose and smiled at him and then looped her arm through the one he'd extended when she'd turned to face him.

She smiled at him gratefully as he led her out of the gallery and back toward the laboratory, "You're a good friend, Hodgins. Thanks for not prying."

"No problem. You saved my life, remember? I still owe you."

After a few wistful moments of silence, Brennan confessed, "Angela's lucky to have you."

"Well, you're lucky, too." She ached with the knowledge that he was right—and that he was talking about Booth without saying his name. She quickly banished thoughts of her partner in order to pull herself back together, "I don't believe in luck. But I am fortunate to have good friends."

_Broken sticks and broken stones_  
_Will turn to dust just like our bones again today_  
_I'm broken down_  
_Not good enough_  
_The broken promises add up again today_

Across town, one of the cops Booth had grilled the day before stopped by his office. He apologized to Booth and confessed that he had been defensive because he was still upset that they hadn't been able to catch Lieutenant Forster's killer. He made what appeared to be a sincere offer to help with the investigation. After allowing the man sufficient time to grovel, Booth showed him the latest report on the evidence from the lab. The man flinched upon seeing Angela's sketch of the marks left behind on the teenager's body. He told Booth that he recognized the symbol as the trademark of a local gang—the Korean symbol "이" representing the number two. Sergeant Manry explained that a beating with a common pipe was the particular handiwork of the gang's second in command—hence the purposeful use of the number 2 in marking the victim. Booth asked him who had been the gang's second in command. As it turned out, it would be the man they'd be interviewing the following morning.

As Booth drilled the sergeant with questions about the gang, its members, and his ideas about how they might be linked with the case, his phone buzzed. "Excuse me," Booth said, leaping up and rushing out into the hallway to take the call, "Booth."

"She's back," Angela said quietly.

"Is she...? Should I...?" Booth's heart was beating so wildly that he couldn't decide what question to ask.

"She's on the platform examining bones. Jack said that she wouldn't tell him what was going on but that she seems okay."

"Oh. Thanks, Angela... Thanks for letting me know."

"Sure thing..."

"Ange?"

"Yeah?"

"Call me if she needs...," Booth paused, listening to _'if she needs me' _resonate loudly within his heart and his mind before continuing, "if she needs anything?"

_Was it ever there at all_  
_Or have I lost my way_  
_The path of least resistance_  
_Is catching up with me again today_

Angela hoped the man talking with her knew how much he was madly in love with her partner. Hearing the angst and concern in his voice, she suspected that he actually might.

"Will do."

_Again today_

**Lyrics: Again Today—Performed beautifully by Brandi Carlile**


	11. Chapter 11

_**[A/N: Writing without the whole story planned is a really interesting process. I really struggle to fit new ideas in and some chapters take much longer than others to finish. Ironically, the ones that I struggle most with seem to become longer. Not sure if that's good or if I'd be better off rushing through them, but observing the process as it has unfolded has been fun.**_

_**This story has gotten longer than I planned but the core of it has remained the same. This song was always meant to be used. The words are so perfect for Brennan's POV that I'm tempted to write a whole story inspired by them. Hope you like them, too. **_

_**I don't own Bones, its characters, or this amazingly sad song that tugs on my heartstrings, but I adore them all.]**_

****

Chapter Eleven: The Search for Truth

A few minutes before ten o'clock the following morning, a contemplative Brennan stopped by Booth's office.

"Hey, Bones," Booth said in a fairly normal voice. He scrutinized her carefully while pretending not to do so.

"Hi," she said in response, her heart beating erratically and her knees becoming jello merely from being as close as a room away from him. She wondered when her body would stop reacting to the man who'd told her how much he wanted her instead of to the partner she had loved for years and could handle working with. Instinctively, she shifted her entire focus to the safety of science and work. "Do you expect this interview to last more than an hour? Mr. Bray is analyzing the histology and fluorescence of the bones and I need to supervise his work."

"If we had time, I'd ask you to translate that squint-speak into English for me," Booth said with a wink, jumping up and grabbing a file before rushing toward the doorway to meet her, "Let's go, Bones. The former gang member's already in the interrogation room." Surprising Brennan, Booth stopped abruptly about a foot farther away from her than he normally would have. "Look, Bones, I know you hate gang leaders, but please don't threaten this guy, okay? It'll only drag things out and keep you away from the lab even longer."

His attempt at humor served as a reminder of their prior stressful encounters with leaders of gangs and comforted both of them a bit as he'd hoped that it would. They'd gotten through those difficult times, and they'd survive this current situation as well. Wordlessly, Brennan turned and he followed her out into the hallway. At the precise moment when he'd have normally laid a hand on the small of her back to guide her, Booth's right arm extended as if of its own accord. But afraid of what the simplest touch might do to fracture the fragile connection between them, he paused and pulled his hand back, slipping his now aching hand into his pants pocket to immobilize it there.

Brennan knew it was ridiculous, but she had literally felt his decision not to touch her. It was as if his movement not to touch her had been a slap—along with a particularly painful stab at her now weary heart. For years, she'd taken their unspoken connection for granted. She had not realized that, somewhere along the way, they'd begun to move in complete synchrony—her brain had automatically ticked off the seconds from the time they'd crossed the threshold of his office until that anticipated contact he always made with her as they moved from place to place. How had this happened? How long had she subconsciously relied upon his actions for other needs than mere survival and comfort? Her immense brain rushed through memories too subtle to notice without looking specifically for them. It didn't take her long to realize that even though she had thought her feelings for her partner had been locked away safely to protect both of them, she had come to rely upon his subtle touches and his words and his companionship in ways she had never depended upon any other. Hiding her feelings for Booth had not protected her from relying on him for far more than the friendship and partnership she treasured above all other possessions and relationships.

Moments after Booth's hand had been safely secured within the pocket of his slacks, Brennan glanced back at him, noting a discomfort on his countenance that rivaled hers. "I'm so sorry, Booth," her heart whispered to his. He half-smiled at her as much to chase away the worried expression on her face as anything.

They entered the interrogation room silently, Booth rushing a bit to pull out her chair and intentionally not watching to see her reaction to that gesture. He'd needed to do something to channel the nervous energy that had built up while he'd forced himself to keep his distance from her on their way to the interrogation room. "Mr. Park, I'm Special Agent Seeley Booth. This is my partner, Dr. Temperance Brennan," Booth said, gesturing to Bones respectfully but not looking her in the eye. "You've met everyone else. I'm sure you are curious about why we've invited you here today."

The fit Korean-American man in his late twenties listened carefully before replying simply to the agent, "Yeah. Yes, I am."

"Well, what are your thoughts? Why do _**you**_ think you're here?" Booth asked, sitting down and pulling out his poker chip, flipping it idly between his fingers as he tried to sit still and listen.

"I don't know," the man said flatly, although his coloring and his posture clearly suggested that he was uncomfortable with the question.

"C'mon, Mr. Park. Surely you have a few guesses about why the FBI would like to ask you a few questions."

"No," the man said quietly, now starting to fight the urge to squirm or leave the room.

The interview continued with Booth eventually prodding the man into admitting his former ties with a violent gang in Baltimore. With Booth breathing down his neck and drawing details from him expertly, Park admitted that he now lived in southern VA with a respectable job. Booth circled round and round with the man, but he vehemently denied being involved in the murders of the Westars. He confessed that the gang had begun to talk about killing cops and that he'd left then-he hadn't been prepared to be any part of that. Clearly not believing his statement, Booth continued to press him hoping that he'd slip or give away something that could be used to compel him to confess. Despite Booth's determined questioning, Park swore that he never killed anyone—that he just beat them up and—once in a while-the gang's leader had shot them.

Park refused to mention the gang's leader by name or to implicate him in any specific crime. "He's still in charge, man. I don't have a death wish. I'm not ratting him out."

Something about the way Mr. Park answered that last question set Booth off. He'd been itching to punch something ever since he'd shoved his hand in his pocket earlier to avoid touching Bones, and he was thrilled that Park might give him that opportunity. Booth was slowly beginning to think the guy might be the killer, and his attitude just ticked him off. After leaping up off the end of the table and rushing the man, Booth pulled him up and out of his seat and pressed him against the wall with his forearm across the man's throat, ignoring the surprised expressions on the other parties in the office. Stunned by Booth's abrupt action and concerned that he might actually hurt the man, Brennan jumped up ready to intervene if needed.

"Booth," she whispered, hoping to distract him enough to prevent him from hurting the suspect.

Booth ignored her and kept using his size and strength to intimidate Park. "Really... killing a woman and her paralyzed husband-did you really think that made you a man?" Booth growled only inches from the man's face.

"I... I never," Park stuttered, glancing to Brennan as if to ask her to protect him.

Booth let his anger radiate out toward the suspect, "Cause I think that makes you a creep, a loser, a jerk-definitely not a man."

"Look, I...," Park started to explain. Booth pressed harder upon his neck and he had to swallow to relieve the pressure. Brennan tugged slightly on Booth's arm to pull him away. Begrudgingly, he reduced the pressure slightly but did not look back at her.

Relieved, Park tried to explain, "I never touched them. The Westars were good people. She worked hard to keep kids like me out of gangs and off the street. She was too late to help me, but she looked after Richie and helped him out. Her husband taught Richie how to play chess. They were good people, man... I never..."

"You're asking us to feel sorry for you? You went around beating up innocent people and selling drugs to kids and you want our sympathy? Give me a break," Booth snarled.

"Booth, let him talk," Brennan whispered, relieved watching her partner relax a bit at her encouragement.

"I never wanted to join that gang. I...," Park paused, glaring at Booth before continuing, "Look, you're big and you're strong, but you're not as big or as scary as my old man was when he kicked the crap out of us," Park confessed. Struck by the comparison to the violent father he had vowed never to become, Booth released his hold on the man and glared at him for a long moment before walking across the room leaving Brennan to continue to question him.

Glancing at Sweets for a moment and aching for the way she knew that this conversation would stir traumatic memories for her partner, Brennan continued quietly, "Your father abused you?"

Fighting back tears and nearly succeeding in banishing them, the man nodded and then continued in a voice strangled with long-hidden rage, "Drank, did drugs, beat the crap out of my mom and us. He killed her… right in the kitchen. Richie...," the man paused, tears finally filling his eyes, "my little brother... he found her dead on the kitchen floor. My old man beat her up and then went back to the bar like nothing had happened. I was only sixteen... We had no other family. I didn't have a job. But I couldn't stay there and risk letting him kill us, too... So we stole the money mom had been saving in a box on the refrigerator and left... Took a bus into the city... The gang had been recruiting us both for years. I'd kept them away from Richie. But I went to them and told them..." Park paused again and then looked directly at Booth as he spoke, "I made them swear to leave Richie out of it. He was my kid brother. I joined the gang to get money and to keep him out of trouble. He was just a kid..."

Brennan glanced at her partner and tried not to show how much sympathy she felt for him. Every word of this story had made her heart clench for Booth. His father hadn't killed his mother, and Booth's grandfather had rescued him and Jared from a life on the streets. But she knew that if circumstances had been different, Booth—the honorable, brave, amazing man she admired—would have done the same thing. He'd have joined a gang if it had been his only way to protect his little brother. Still, she knew that the last thing Booth wanted in that moment was her comfort and reassurance. He was trying too hard to look as if this story hadn't affected him at all. So she refocused on Park to help with the work so that Booth wouldn't have to question this man who'd walked an eerily similar path.

Booth moved to the far end of the room and paced slowly as Brennan continued to talk with Park. "So you admit to being a gang member. We know that you were second in command. The officers from Baltimore told us your trademark symbol-beating a Korean "2" into people to mark your work. You know we found that symbol on one of the victims..."

"I swear, I didn't kill them... the Westars were good people."

"The mark was on another victim found buried with them."

"I... someone must have tried to frame me for it... I never even knew they were dead. I swear..."

Even though she found his story convincing, Brennan continued to press the man so that Booth wouldn't have to do so.

"But you admit that you beat people to death marking them like that?"

"Beating them, yes... But I never killed anyone... I told them I wouldn't. I beat people up. But I never killed anyone."

"And we're supposed to just what? Take your word for this? You are hardly a reliable source."

"Well, you're getting more truth out of me than you'll ever get out of the gang. I am telling you the truth, lady."

Annoyed with his tone and worried that it might set Booth off again, Brennan shifted gears, "What happened to Richie?"

Park glared at her, hiding his pain behind his stare. "I'm not talking about Richie with you... He's my family. He's not part of this. Leave him out of it."

"Tell us, Mr. Park. What happened to your brother? Was he one of the people you beat up? Did he join the gang, too? You were his big brother. You were supposed to protect him. That's what big brothers who love their little brothers do," she couldn't resist throwing out there for Booth's sake.

"You don't get to question my love for my brother. That's our private family business," Park hissed.

That subtle implied threat on his partner was the excuse Booth had been looking for to rejoin the conversation. Now fueled by a fire inflamed by reminders of his violent upbringing, Booth rushed past his partner to clutch the man and press him back against the wall.

"We're asking the questions here, loser. And you'd better show my partner some respect when she asks you questions."

"I'm not answering any more questions without a lawyer."

Now furious, Booth shook the man and considering punching him, "You son of a..., you left a girl... a sixteen-year old girl an orphan. You took out both of her parents. What kind of monster does that to a kid?"

Brennan flinched realizing that a very large part of her partner's anger was coming from the fact that he hated the thought that his man could have caused someone else a pain like the one she'd endured.

"April was a good kid. I knew her. I'd never have hurt her parents. That's why I left, man. They were starting to mess with the police and talked about making a 'statement.' Richie had already run off, and I had no reason to stay. I never would have attacked any cop… especially not Mrs. Westar."

"So you expect me to believe that you, a slimeball gang leader, decided that the stakes were too high and you just left? People don't leave gangs unless they're in body bags. Your story smells, Park. In fact, it reeks."

"I did one final job for them and they let me go. I promised to stay away, and I have. This is the closest I've been to Baltimore in six years."

"Bones is right. We have no reason to believe anything you say. You're just covering your ass."

"Look, G-man, I don't have any reason to lie to you. I am clean now. I'm trying to live the right way. Yes, I have a past. But I'm trying to make up for it. Haven't you ever done something because of someone or some circumstance that you'd never have done otherwise? Haven't you ever looked back and wished you could take one thing back? Or are you perfect?"

Booth just glared at him. Park's words were echoing in his head. Yeah, if there were one thing he'd want to take back-he'd go back to the way things had been when things were normal and easy between Bones and him.

But he was jostled out of his thoughts by his partner's voice, "Agent Booth is a hero, an honorable man who has served his country bravely and who is loyal to his friends and family. I understand that your circumstances were difficult, but comparing the choices you made to things he's done? That's not possible. Agent Booth has done nothing he should be ashamed of..."

Booth just looked at her. They exchanged some sort of wordless message Booth wasn't quite sure the meaning of. He turned back to Park, itching for the man to give him a reason to recover the anger Bones had somehow managed to pull away from him.

But as soon as he had refocused on the subject of the interview, Bones had been struck with one of her ideas that wouldn't stop. "Booth, I need to ask you something... outside."

"In a minute, Bones, we're just wrapping up here."

"No, this can't wait. I need to discuss this with you now."

"Five minutes, Bones. Just give me..."

"Booth, I will not wait. This is too important." She stormed out of the room.

With a beleaguered look at Sweets, Booth released the man and turned to leave the room to find his partner.

"Can't you just listen to me for once? What the hell was so damned important that it couldn't wait five more minutes?"

She glared at him as if to remind him that he was way out of line for yelling at her like that. Booth raised his arms in a gesture that called for a truce even though it stopped short of an apology and repeated, "Just tell me, Bones."

"I want to take a DNA sample from Mr. Park."

"Well you could have just asked him for it. That was no reason to pull me out of that room," he insisted, furious that she'd thought he was too out of control to manage the interview.

Moving quickly to inform him that she hadn't doubted his professionalism, she told him what had struck her during the interview, "I think his brother is the teenaged victim."

"You think he killed... his brother?"

Frustrated by an overwhelming desire to hug Booth and tell him that everything would be okay—that they'd get through the case and everything else, Brennan snapped back into her cool, rational mode as a self-protective measure, "Don't jump to conclusions, Booth. I'm merely suggesting that the underlying bone structure and the age of the victim combined with other facts makes it a logical possibility that the victim is Mr. Park's missing brother."

Booth clenched his jaw for a moment as he considered her theory. He had to admit that she was awfully adept at recognizing bone structure and other markers.

"So you'll support my request for his DNA?"

"Yes."

Pleased that he was agreeing with her, Temperance continued, "And you'll stall and hold him here until we can make a comparison? I should have the results within an hour."

"No."

She'd already been turning to re-enter the interrogation room. His refusal stopped her cold, "No? Why not?"

"Get the sample. We'll ask him to come back on Monday."

"Monday? Why? Shouldn't he know the truth now?"

Booth just shook his head and glanced skyward as if for divine help, "If he did kill his brother, he'll have four more days to carry the burden of that dirty family secret around."

"And if he didn't kill his brother?"

Booth bit the inside of his lower lip and shook his head in frustration before speaking through gritted teeth, "Then he'll have four more days before he finds out that his little brother is dead."

"Booth, I know this case is..."

"It's just a case. Not now, Bones. Just... not right now, okay?"

Uncharacteristically, Booth walked past her and back into the interrogation room. After standing there for a long moment, she followed him back into the room.

T R A N S L A T I O N . . . T R A N S L A T I O N . . . T R A N S L A T I O N . . . T R A N S L A T I O N . . . T R A N S L A T I O N . . .

Booth wasn't quite sure how Bones had managed to convince him to go to lunch with her at the diner. Stupid Park and his comparing him to his own abusive father... Booth needed to skip lunch and hit the gym to make some permanent dents in a punching bag (or twenty) or he needed a hard run or something. The absolute last thing he needed to do was to spend what was bound to be an awkward lunch at the diner with his partner. But she was Bones and he apparently had 'I'm an idiot for her" tattooed on his forehead. Grumbling internally, he followed her out of the building and down the street toward the diner for lunch.

As they'd approached the diner, Brennan and Booth ran into the prosecutor who would be working on the Park case. Stacey Villar was in her mid-thirties, recently divorced, and looking none the worse for it. She'd always had a thing for Booth and made no pretense of showing that she still wanted a shot with him—if not just a piece of him on a temporary basis. After brief awkward re-introductions, Temperance excused herself and headed into the diner. Once inside, she settled at the table and focused her attention on the conversation underway outside on the sidewalk.

_I don't know what I've done  
Or if I like what I've begun  
But something told me to run  
And honey you know me it's all or none  
There were sounds in my head  
Little voices whispering  
That I should go and this should end  
Oh and I found myself listening_

She sat there feigning casual interest in the way that the well-endowed woman showed her ample cleavage off as she laughed uproariously at what Temperance was certain was only a mildly funny joke. She could tell from his posture that Booth hadn't expected the joke to garner that much enthusiasm. She wondered if Ms. Villar had been able to read him. No, she thought sadly. _Nobody reads him the way I do._

With her attention clearly focused on events unfolding outside, Brennan gave the waitress their standard lunch orders. She swallowed hard and tried to pretend that she wasn't jealous of the way that the woman unleashed what was certainly a practiced routine on her partner. She was touchy without being offensive, chatty without going on too much, and witty and funny in her own right. She kept smiling up at Booth as if he were a Christmas present or the smartest man she'd ever met. In typical Booth fashion, he enjoyed the attention and appreciated the view she put on display before him, but Booth didn't make it appear obvious that the woman was getting to him.

She envied the woman her bravado, her blonde locks, and her skill at enticing men. Ms. Villar was smart, successful, gorgeous, a Justice Department staff member herself, and blonde—she was definitely Booth's type. Brennan wished just for a moment that she could be someone other than the person she so intrinsically was. She wished for the ability to be carefree and "normal" and female in ways that she had never mastered. She was still reeling from these unwelcome and unfamiliar thoughts when her partner entered the diner.

__

Cause I don't know who I am, who I am without you  
All I know is that I should  
And I don't know if I could stand another hand upon you  
All I know is that I should  
Cause she will love you more than I could  
She who dares to stand where I stood

As he sat down across from her, Brennan felt the need to speak in order to stop the knot of regret that was forming in her stomach. She eyed Booth carefully and leaned forward to get his attention. She spoke directly but in a hushed voice, "I promise not to venture any further down this road, but you should know that Ms. Villar wants to have sexual intercourse with you."

After doing a quick double-take at her, Booth shook his head dismissively, "That's an old story, Bones. You know I've turned her down before."

"Well, she's beautiful and intelligent. And she's more than interested. I just... you deserve to be happy, Booth. Perhaps she can make you happy."

"I thought you promised not to go down that road."

"Well, I think it's important that we're honest. And I think that she seems perfect for you."

__

See I thought love was black and white  
That it was wrong or it was right

"You're telling me to go out with her?"

"I'm not certain about these things, but I've read that dating helps people move on from… from their past."

He couldn't help smirking at her. That was such a 'Bones' thing to say, "Yes, that is often true."

"Well, you haven't been dating anyone, Booth. I just thought that...," Temperance trailed off. What? She thought that pushing Booth to date a woman completely unlike herself might be good? Why? Now her logic seemed fraught with stupidity and error.

"I'm meeting her for coffee next week, Bones. She asked. I said I'd go," he confessed, searching her eyes carefully as he did so, "Are you happy now?"

"That's good," she managed in an even tone before looking down to gaze at her salad as if it held the secrets to the origins of man. Although she'd been the one pushing him, she couldn't lie to him by saying that she was happy. Her heart now felt as if it had been pricked full of tiny holes that ached more with each heartbeat.

Booth pulled Temperance out of her private misery once their meals were delivered. They immersed themselves in conversation about the case and for a few moments things were blissfully normal. He tried to pretend that his partner wasn't in the midst of some internal freak-out he knew better than to mention. So he cracked jokes and tried to get her to help him create realistic scenarios—anything to keep them focused on work and out of the hellhole their partnership had become lately.

As they reached the parking garage and waited for the elevator to take her to her car, Booth nudged her with his elbow in that old friendly way and said, "Hey, about what you said to Park earlier? Thanks, Bones."

"It was only the truth, Booth."

"Well, you didn't have to say those things. I was grateful that you did." 

_But you ain't leaving without a fight  
And I think I am just as torn inside_

As the bell for the elevator rang more loudly than normal given the emotional electricity that suddenly surrounded them, she stepped into the small space and turned to face him. For the briefest of moments, the partners stood gazing wordlessly upon one another without the barriers and facades of their everyday life firmly in place. Brennan felt the warmth of those chocolate brown eyes stir something within her, and Booth had a glimpse—a tiny flicker of one—of the impact he could have on his partner. As the doors closed, Temperance slumped against the back of the elevator fighting tears as her partner sighed and turned to walk back into the Hoover Building to finish his day.

T R A N S L A T I O N . . . T R A N S L A T I O N . . . T R A N S L A T I O N . . . T R A N S L A T I O N . . . T R A N S L A T I O N . . .

On Friday afternoon, the entire team assembled to prepare for the coming week's busy schedule. They were to interview Mr. Park again on Monday morning and tell him that they'd confirmed that his brother was the third victim buried with the Westars. Then, they were going to hold him in temporary custody (or protective custody if that seemed more appropriate) while they invaded the gang and arrested all of its members. The interrogation room was planning central. When Brennan arrived, she noticed that the room was already a flurry of activity. Ms. Villar was there, sidled up to Booth. Dr. Sweets was talking with Charlie about plans for keeping the gang members isolated so that they could be interviewed separately. Several bureau SWAT team leaders were there discussing plans to invade and disassemble the home base for the gang.

Somehow unable or unwilling to enter the room, Temperance stood where she'd stopped across the hallway. She observed the workings of the team, but this was not an anthropological observation. She stood there watching as Ms. Villar made an observation that impressed her partner. In turn, he smiled and nodded at her approvingly with his eyebrows raised in that manner that made it obvious that he was pleased. She knew instinctively that she was witnessing the connection that could become the foundation of a relationship between them. She ached as she watched Booth lean down and whisper something to Ms. Villar. It was so easy for her to feel the way his breath would have tickled her ear and warmed her from the inside out. It had done so to her dozens of times before.

She was literally mesmerized by the image of Booth interacting with this new woman. It was different and unique, but Booth's glances and actions were so uniquely his. She felt pangs of jealousy rip through her even though she knew that she had no right to expect him to reserve anything—especially the intimacy of subtle touches-just for her.

She continued to stare at the pair, her heart aching as she watched Ms. Villar place a hand upon Booth's arm. The smile that simple touch engendered in him broke her already fractured heart.

Miserably lost in her own thoughts, Temperance had not realized that someone had walked up beside her. Without a word, Dr. Sweets put an arm around her and led her down the hallway to his office. He squeezed her shoulder tightly until they were safely ensconced in his office.

She'd steeled herself for the onslaught, fully prepared for Sweets to start interrogating her. Turning away from him, she stood and stared out the window, dreading what he was going to say to her.

Surprisingly, the man said nothing.

She took a moment to swallow hard and to swipe at the tears she hadn't realized had been falling. Years of practice burying her emotions came in handy and she was able to pull herself together rather quickly. Clearing her throat, Brennan turned to face the young psychologist, "Go ahead. I'm ready for your questions now."

He tilted his head a bit and smiled at her sympathetically, "I don't have any questions for you today, Dr. Brennan."

"You don't?"

"No. I just thought you needed a moment... I don't have any questions."

"But you always have questions."

"Not today. I think you have enough questions for both of us."

"Oh, I see. That was subtle. You're expecting me to offer my own questions for you to scrutinize. That's an impressive technique, Dr. Sweets."

"You give me too much credit, Dr. B. I brought you in here as your friend—not as your psychologist. If you want to talk, I'm happy to oblige. But I didn't bring you here to interrogate you. I just wanted to help. You looked upset."

"Well, I appreciate the gesture, but I wasn't upset. And I don't have any questions," she lied.

"Dr. Brennan, you have to stop lying. You're the only one who can't see through your own deception."

She stared at him for a long moment, unbidden tears welling in her eyes again. She turned away to stare out the window, unable to stop a few tears from trickling down her cheek. "There's nothing to question. I should be happy for him. He deserves to move on… be happy," she admitted boldly in a haunted voice.

"Are you?" Sweets asked, aching for the woman whose pain was radiating brightly.

"Am I what?" she asked, hoping to evade the question.

"You said that you should be happy for Booth," he said, watching as her shoulders flinched at the mention of her partner's name. "Are you happy for him?"

There was a long, unbearably silent pause. Then she turned to face him, tears falling, unable to answer the question because she was so programmed not to lie. Yet speaking the truth would be her undoing.

__

Cause I don't know who I am, who I am without you  
All I know is that I should  
And I don't know if I could stand another hand upon you  
All I know is that I should  
Cause she will love you more than I could  
She who dares to stand where I stood

Without saying another word, Sweets leapt up and crossed the room, folding her into his arms and holding her as she cried. He was surprised how pliant she became. She allowed him to hold her, and she wept openly as the pain of her fear and the mistakes it caused washed over her afresh. They stood there silently for a long time. Then Sweets suggested that she go home or back to the lab. He'd make excuses for her. She resisted, ever afraid to shirk her responsibilities no matter how painful fulfilling them might be. Sweets reassured her that this one time it was fine for her to miss the meeting. He promised to relay anything important to her via email. She nodded and left the room silently, whispering a quiet "thank you" as she entered the hallway.

After giving her time to vacate the premises, Sweets made his way back into the interrogation room. Booth walked over immediately, concern on his face. "Sweets, Bones is late. She's never late, and she's not answering her cell."

"No worries, Agent Booth. She called and asked me to tell you that she can't make it over this afternoon. I told her that we'd e-mail the files to her and that we'd see her on Monday morning."

"Sweets?" Booth asked, his question and concern for his partner written all over his face.

"She's fine, Booth. You don't need her for this part," he said gesturing to Ms. Villar who was waiting eagerly for Booth to return to sit beside her. Booth glanced over, smiled at her and then looked helplessly back at Sweets.

"She just needs a little space. Things have been difficult for both of you lately. Take the break. You'll be working together next week constantly."

"You're sure. You're sure that Bones is okay," Booth demanded.

"She'll be fine," Sweets whispered, wishing there were some way for him to make things easier for both of them. With a wistful grimace, Booth nodded and returned to the table to brief the team on the rest of their plans for the coming week's work.

_**Lyrics: Where I Stood—by Missy Higgins**_


	12. Chapter 12

_**[A/N: I am awed by your kind reviews and attention to this story! Thanks for hanging in through the sadness and angst. Hope it doesn't seem overdone. Something worth fighting for is worth enduring a bit of misery, I believe.**_

_**I find it fascinating that—at some point in writing any story—the story just takes hold and demands that it be written at a more intense pace. Even with this fanfic writer has 100s of other more pressing things that should be done first. Does that happen to any of you? It's a pretty predictable thing for me. I just wish I knew what triggered it so that I'd be better able to plan around it…. Actually, I do think I know what triggers that event in each of my stories, but I'm not prepared to share the reason why with you—not quite yet, anyway. Just know that I am currently being held hostage by this story at the moment.**_

_**Not to be bossy, but if you own a copy of the amazing **__**Like a Star**__** by Corinne Bailey Rae, please put it on while you read the end of this chapter and the entire next chapter. If you don't, I highly recommend that you purchase a copy and fall madly in love with it. Bones fanfic is reacquainting me with all of my favorite old angsty love songs, and I'm enjoying racking up the repeats on my iPod while writing.**_

_**This chapter turned out to be so insanely long—just realized it was over 10,000 characters—that I just split it into pieces just before posting. Consider this one an appetizer—the next chapter will be longer and a bit more eventful.]**_

****

Chapter Twelve: No Translation Needed

As he left the office late on Friday evening, Booth had called Temperance and again gotten no answer. Tempted to drive over to check on her, he paused and thought for a long moment; Sweets had been sending him not-so-subtle messages that Bones needed space. He knew that an impromptu visit to the privacy of her home would likely stir the already boiling pot of their relationship even further. Sighing and putting his car back into park, he sent a brief text message to her and waited. He decided that if she didn't reply, he'd go over there anyway—risks be damned.

To his surprise, her response came quickly. "Struck with inspiration for several chapters. Plan to write all weekend."

All weekend. No translation needed there. That was Bones' not-so-subtle way of telling him that Sweets had been right. Booth sighed. Even tired or upset, Bones could compartmentalize. She was probably channeling her energy into the book. That was productive. He wished that he had such an outlet.

Sighing, he backed the SUV out of his space and wound his way through the parking garage. He'd head over to the gym. Even though he felt exhausted, he was certain that his energy would rebound once he had a punching bag in front of him. He quickly formed a plan of action. He'd wear himself out, let Sid fill his stomach with something from Wong Fu's that would settle nicely, and then 'veg' out for the quiet weekend. He reminded himself that he did need to start planning full force for next weekend with Parker. It would be his son's birthday. Booth had promised him a Friday night meal wherever he wanted to eat followed by a Saturday fishing expedition with him and Pops. He needed to pick up gifts and plan the details so that Parker's weekend would be just what his kid wanted.

Across town, Brennan smiled at Booth's response to her message: "Make sure Andy's wearing great socks. Call me, Bones... if U need anything."

Upon receiving his reply, she had blinked back tears—surely humans couldn't produce an endless supply of saline. She'd continuously insisted—probably too loudly-that the FBI agent in her books hadn't been Booth, but over time in response to Booth's prodding, she'd conceded to his oft-repeated request that she allow Andy to wear unconventional socks. Booth had relished that small victory, and she had thoroughly enjoyed watching him grin and comment every time she noted in her books that the agent had worn unusual footwear. She might have convinced Booth that he and Andy shared only FBI work and unique taste in socks, but she had known better. Andy had always been the metaphorical Booth for her Kathy. Andy had been the fictional man whom the fictional version of her had been able to woo and win while fighting crimes and solving murders. Unlike the authentic version, her alter ego in her books' hadn't been irrevocably broken and unable to love others in return the way that they deserved.

Writing had always been so neat and tidy—fatal flaws could be camouflaged or made to disappear in ways that simply weren't possible in real life. Impossible barriers could be demolished with a few dexterous keystrokes. Books could have happy endings—even for hopelessly flawed characters. Real life had not been as accommodating. Real life was as hard and its baggage was as impossible to erase as the trace evidence on the bones she loved so dearly.

Her tears fell again freely. Temperance had been attacked by bouts of crying since leaving the Hoover Building. She'd put on a brave face when she'd called and asked Angela to stop by and shut down everything in her office.

"_I'm just tired. It was a long afternoon," she had said unconvincingly._

"_Sweetie, do you want me to come over and bring dinner... or alcohol?"_

"_No. I'm going to work on my book this weekend. My agent wants to deliver the latest draft to the publisher sometime next week. It needs more work."_

"_Well, I can come over and help spice it up if you want. You are paying me way too much money not to demand more of my help, you know."_

"_Maybe next week, Ange," Brennan said, closing the subject carefully._

"_Well, call me if you change your mind or if you need anything, okay Sweetie?"_

"_I will," Brennan said, clicking off the phone._

She'd reclined there for hours trying to regain her rational perspective. There was nothing rational about being jealous that Booth might move on and find someone else. She'd as much as told him to do so. And if he did move on—and she had to fight the invading tears again just thinking about that very real possibility—he'd be completely available to be her partner and friend. That was what she wanted most.

Wasn't it?

Her enormous mind seemed to have met its logical limit. She appeared to be incapable of imagining a real-life connection with her partner that worked and that still met her needs. Adding anything more than their fast friendship and working relationship tilted the balance of things in a way that made that alteration too dangerous, too likely to wound her partner, too risky. Besides, Booth was resilient and more adaptable than she. He'd move on. He'd already started. Averse to change, she determined that the status quo was the safest route for them to follow. She just wished her heart would get that message and stop making it hard for her to make peace with it.

T R A N S L A T I O N . . . T R A N S L A T I O N . . . T R A N S L A T I O N . . . T R A N S L A T I O N . . .

Monday morning arrived and beckoned the partners to work together whether they felt ready to do so or not. Booth sauntered into the interrogation room and immediately sensed that something was off. He paused for a brief moment to survey the scene: Sweets had been scrutinizing Brennan closely, and she sat staring at her notes as if nothing in the world could distract her. The set of her jaw told Booth that she was definitely upset about something.

Placing her favorite tea down on the table in front of her and mumbling something about his hope that she'd had a good weekend, Booth shot a long glance at Sweets, warning the man that if he'd been "messing" with his partner that he'd deal with him later—those extra hours punching the crap out of bags at the gym that weekend had him primed and ready to follow through on that threat. Sweets shrugged as if he had no idea what might currently be wrong with Brennan. Fortunately for him, Booth didn't have time to dwell on his partner's mood.

Charlie escorted Mr. Park back into the room and Booth gestured for him to have a seat. Making sure to keep a safe distance between himself and Stacey Villar and from his partner, Booth sat down at the end of the table. After looking around the room at everyone except the women whose interest he had garnered most, Booth began speaking in a somber voice. He nodded at Sweets as if to suggest that he pay close attention to the way the man reacted to the news he was about to convey. He also managed a glance at Bones and was relieved to note that she appeared to be ready to face the meeting with her emotions tightly veiled.

"Mr. Park, thank you for coming back in today. We appreciate your giving us a DNA sample and access to your medical records. We've analyzed them, and we have some... Something to discuss with you."

Confused by Booth's vague language, the man leaned forward expectantly.

"Mr. Park, I'm very sorry to have to tell you this, but we've found your brother..." Booth had intended to say "your brother's remains" but the man had cut him off.

"Richie? You found my Richie?"

"I am very sorry," Booth began, "your brother is deceased."

"What? No! Not Richie!" the man wailed, leaving little doubt about his sincerity or his honest shock over hearing this news.

"I'm very sorry for your loss," Booth began again, emotion coloring his cheeks and tinting his voice. Moved by the man's intense emotion, Booth reached out and put a supportive hand on his shoulder. He could only imagine the agony this man was now suffering having lost his little brother. He was grateful he could not actually share his pain.

Park leapt up, anger and confusion animating him despite his misery. "No, it's not Richie. He ran away! He's safe."

Brennan calmly walked around the room and showed the man pictures of his younger brother's burned clothing. She showed him the shreds of gang symbols on the fabric that Angela had found after magnifying the images. She told him that they had absolute proof that the remains they'd found on the boy were those of his brother. She rattled off evidence of childhood injuries and other things that Park knew meant she'd found his brother. Collapsing in his grief, the man stumbled into a chair. He kept mumbling that Richie couldn't be dead... that he hadn't been part of the gang...

Temperance had spoken carefully to the man and let him see in her expression how clearly she understood his pain, "I know this is excruciating for you. I know how horrible it is to wait to find the ones you love. We waited until we knew for certain that the boy we'd found was your brother."

"How long? How long has he been dead?" Park croaked.

"Seven years," Brennan said softly, tears filling her tender eyes in sympathy as the man broke down completely.

Nodding at Booth for approval to continue, Temperance walked adeptly through the evidence with Park. He finally admitted that the boy they'd found had been his brother, but he refused to even consider the fact that his brother might have joined up with the gang. However, when Booth informed him that the FBI was now considering the fact that the gang had killed his brother to hurt him, Park had bellowed loudly, cursed colorfully, and ranted at length about the gang and all of its secrets. He'd do whatever it took—even take them to the front door and let the gang leader kill him if that's what it took to find justice for his brother. He begged, pled with them to find out what had happened. They had all nodded and Booth had reassured him, but it had been Temperance whose promise that they would find out the truth that had given him peace.

There wasn't a person in that room who hadn't been deeply affected by the highly emotional meeting. The man's pain had been palpable. Brennan had managed most of the interview skillfully without much help from her unusually silent partner. The interview had been much more successful than any of them had anticipated, but the overflow of information hadn't come without a steep cost.

At the end of the interview, Booth had led Park out of the room to hand him off to marshals who would keep him in protective custody for the next several weeks. On the way out of the room, Park had stopped to talk to Brennan, his words leaving an indelible mark.

"Dr. Brennan... it's Brennan, right?" she nodded. "I am sorry if I was rude to you earlier. I... You will never know how much I appreciate everything you've done-the way that you made sure it was Richie..., the care you've taken to try to gather enough evidence to catch the people who killed him, the way that you talked with me so openly... You are an amazingly strong woman. Whatever your loss... Whatever your wounds... You have an enormous heart. Your husband is a very lucky man to have found a woman with such an enormous capacity to love."

Watching Bones struggle to deal with the man's misconceptions, Booth had gently ushered Park out of the room and thanked him for his kind words to his partner. Then, he had handed the man over to the marshals with repeated promises that he'd do everything he could to find his brother's murderer.

Booth had assumed that Brennan had returned to her work at the Jeffersonian to put the day's meeting out of her mind, but when he walked past the interrogation room, she was still sitting there alone in the room. _Crap_, he thought, _maybe there are some things even Bones can't compartmentalize_. Adrenaline coursed through his veins the way it always did when he knowingly entered a dangerous situation.

"You okay, Bones?" he asked softly, moving to sit on the edge of the table near her.

She continued to stare at the wall across the room and said nothing.

"Bones?" he asked again, searching her face and finding no clue about how he might help her. If he'd been able to focus clearly enough, he might have resented the fact that his own problems and pain disappeared the moment he suspected that something might be bothering Temperance Brennan. Fortunately for him, when she was concerned about anything, he was unable to think of anything else.

_Just like a star across my sky,_

__

Just like an angel off the page,

You have appeared to my life,

Feel like I'll never be the same,

"No," she replied. Booth paused. Bones never admitted to not being fine.

"Go ahead and laugh. I know you're eager to do so," she said, bitterness coating her words.

"Laugh? I'm not laughing Bones. Today was... rough. You handled it like a pro. I was so proud of you. I'm not here to laugh."

He'd expected a retort, but when she'd heard his response, she seemed broken somehow. She'd hoped that he would make some sarcastic comment about how 'ironic' it was that the man thought she was married and that she had a big heart. While her next words spoke of her respect for him, Booth could not feel comfort from them, "Of course you're not," she said, tears filling her eyes as she realized how unfairly she was treating him by trying to draw him into a fight when he'd been trying to comfort her. "You wouldn't laugh at me." She wasn't criticizing him. She was just admitting how dependable and loyal he was.

"Bones, tell me what's going on. Maybe talking about it will help," he suggested. Bones was so seldom this rattled by things. He was proceeding cautiously, afraid that she'd get angry –or worse—more quiet if he said the wrong thing.

_Just like a song in my heart,  
_

_Just like oil on my hands,  
_

_Honour to love you  
_

She looked up at him with such pain in her expression. What did it say about her that she could show her complete heart to a total stranger while she kept it locked tightly away from the man who wanted it most? The look on her face made it obvious that she was overwhelmed by emotions he couldn't begin to understand. "You can't fix some things, Booth. I appreciate the fact that you want to help, but some things are bigger... bigger than even you." She knew that there weren't many things on that list. Few problems were so big that Booth couldn't do something to make them better.

"Bones..."

"I just need a few moments. Would you mind leaving me here alone?" she asked, his heart breaking for her as she tried to remain strong and hold her raging emotions inside.

"Sure... Sure thing, Bones," he said sympathetically. He paused twice before making his way all the way out of the room. His inclination to run to her and scoop her up and carry her away from whatever was troubling her was overwhelming, but this was Bones, and he respected her too much not to do as she wished.

Despite his determination to leave her alone, Booth couldn't make himself move far away. Feeling guilty but not too guilty to stop himself, Booth ducked into the observation room so that he could keep an eye on his partner. He watched as she sat perfectly still—obviously dealing with something enormous that was weighing down on her. Then she started crying and put her head down on the table. Watching her and not trying to help her was a unique form of torture for Booth. Without realizing he had been moving, he walked slowly toward the glass and positioned himself as close to her as circumstances would permit. By the time Bones stood up and walked over to the opposite side of the room to pace, he'd placed his palm flat on the window as if he might somehow absorb a part of her pain.

He lost track of all time as he stood there watching his partner's silent struggle. He was so focused on her that he jerked back ready to attack when he felt a sympathetic hand land upon his shoulder.

"Watching her like this is like lying, Agent Booth. You should be in there talking to her instead of hiding," Sweets said sympathetically.

"Hiding? I'm not hiding," Booth hissed angrily, "She asked me to leave."

"And you don't feel guilty for hiding and watching her without her knowing about it?"

"Of course I do. But I can't... I can't make myself leave. She's hurting." Such tenderness was held in his voice that Sweets now felt like an intruder. Booth was never this open with him.

"Well, you know what she's upset about, don't you?" Sweets asked, drawing a glare from the agent before he turned his attention back to his partner.

"She loves you. She's trying to protect you by denying what she feels. She's trying so hard to justify keeping what she feels from you."

"Sweets... Don't. Bones could be upset about a dozen other things. I... We've been down that road and it ended badly. I can't be there for her-not the way I want to be there for her, but I can stand beside her and help... be her friend."

"You're not the only one whose heart is breaking being denied what it wants," Sweets said. "I don't know if she's strong enough to keep fighting the way she has been."

"Bones is strong enough to do anything she damn well chooses. It's gotta be Bones' choice, Sweets. I've said my piece. I can't hurt her more than I already have."

"If she gives you a window, a tiny opening... don't hold back. That might be all she's able to offer."

Booth nodded and swallowed hard, torn between wanting to hug Sweets for rekindling his hope and wanting to kick his ass hard for even daring to drag him down that road again. Unfortunately for him, he was soon distracted from those thoughts.

Temperance's semi-private struggle was interrupted when Deputy Director Hacker walked into the interrogation room through the wide-open door. Booth instantly stiffened, and Sweets fought the urge to run into the room and drag Brennan away. This situation was potentially catastrophic, and he had no idea how to protect either of his patients. He felt paralyzed, and he suspected this was going to end badly. Lacking an authentic reason for running in there and ruining his career and suspecting that he might actually die if he tried to make Booth move, he opted to stand there beside Booth.

Hacker had noticed that Brennan had been upset and rushed to her. Searching her face for clues about the crisis, he asked her what had happened and specifically inquired whether Booth had upset her. He suggested that he could punish Booth—give him desk duty or crappy cases if he'd upset her. Sweets watched Booth's blood pressure continue to rise at a dramatic pace.

Uncomfortable with anyone seeing her in distress, Temperance wiped her eyes and told him that Booth had done nothing. The tension in the observation room dropped off dramatically when Brennan continued by defending Booth. "He's a wonderful partner. He's infinitely patient with me. He should be commended for his work. He's a true hero."

Sweets watched as the stoic special agent returned his hand to the glass as if he might somehow reach out to his partner.

"Temperance, are you sure that you don't have a thing for Booth? All these glowing things you're saying aren't helping dispel those rumors," Hacker asked her expectantly.

Sweets saw as much as heard Booth inhale sharply upon hearing that question.

"No, Booth and I are just partners," she insisted the way she had hundreds of times. Only this time there was a sadness in her voice that had never been evident before. Ever clueless, Hacker missed it, but Sweets didn't, and he was pretty sure that Booth didn't either.

"Good, go out with me."

"What?"

"Have dinner with me, Temperance. I'm crazy about you. I'd love to take you out."

She started to say something but then Hacker surprised all of them by stepping forward boldly and kissing her. Sweets hated watching as Booth's open palm that had been splayed on the window curled slowly into an angry fist.

"Okay," she said, stunned by the kiss.

Booth moved immediately to leave the room and Sweets tried and failed to stop him from brushing past him. "Dr. Brennan didn't kiss him back, Booth. She was too upset to act normally. She didn't seem all that interested in the date."

Booth whirled and spoke through gritted teeth, "You'd better get over the idea that anything is going to happen with Bones and me. You need to get the hell over it, Sweets, so you can help me figure out how the hell that I'm supposed to..."


	13. Chapter 13

_**[A/N: You all blew me away with your comments. After splitting that chapter at the last-minute, I feared that I had left you with a rather boring and unsatisfying chapter, so your kind words were a terrific surprise! If you liked that part, I'm hopeful this will go over well, too. Thanks again for your very kind reviews! Reviews are so inspirational. They drive me to type, you know….**_

_**I don't own Bones or its characters. The people who do have my utmost respect, and I am indebted to them for entertaining me endlessly. I own my own copy of Like a Star by Corinne Bailey Rae and have played it continuously for days. I don't own those amazing lyrics, and I can only wish I could sing the way she does. I had to turn that amazing song off at one point because it stole my attention and dragged my focus away from the story. But now that this is written, it's back on in a loop again. Hope you'll listen while you read. That song is simply perfection.**_

_**FYI-Format for this chapter got really buggy-hope I've minimized the glitches.]**_

Chapter 13: Fighting Not to Admit They've Fallen

Beyond furious about what he'd just witnessed, Booth left the building immediately to go help with the arrests of the gang members. He intentionally hadn't left a message for Bones to tell her what he was doing. Talking to her the way he felt right then? Not... going... to... happen. He desperately needed some time to just be a cop and be himself and not to be anywhere near her. Never mind that he was early and that the whole team always dreaded his early arrival because that usually meant he'd harass them about every detail of the operation. Given what he'd just witnessed, this team was in for an even rougher ride than they expected.

As he drove to the field prep station, Booth hated the way that images of Hacker kissing his partner sent murderous rage coursing wildly through his veins. He also hated the fact that nearly all of his time with Bones lately had been emotional and draining and not the comfort it used to be for both of them.

Not really even remembering the drive over, Booth jumped out at the facility and quickly lost himself in the mindless work of stalking and catching bad guys and other things he could do by rote memory. Even so, he had been too preoccupied with heartbreaking thoughts to relish excelling at something he knew he was damn good at doing.

In record time due in no small part to Booth's expert guidance, the squad had caught nearly all of the gang's members and found solid leads on where the leader and two of his cronies were hiding. All in all, the raid had been highly successful. Now all that remained was for Booth and his team to read each person his rights, arrest and book them all, keep them in isolation so that they couldn't share information, and scrub the building for evidence that might be used to prosecute the losers for the crime they were investigating as well as the many others they knew them to be guilty of committing. Then they'd go after the remaining members of the gang.

Even though the bust had been virtually complete and they had immobilized and disarmed most of the gang's members at their hangout, the team remained on high alert. As such, they all reacted quickly when an angry Brennan came bursting through the door unexpectedly and started yelling at Booth. Since everyone (including Booth) still had weapons drawn and at the ready, Booth whirled as if to shoot an intruding gang member and nearly choked on his own saliva realizing how close he'd come to shooting his partner. He rushed across the room to cover her from potential bullets as he yelled "Hold your fire!" over and over again until he had shoved Bones out into the empty hallway.

With his body pressing hers against the wall to protect her, he just stared down at her, full of too many raging emotions to manage. "Bones," his whispered, his strangled plea barely audible as he allowed himself just a moment to relish the fact that she was safe and alive and that he could feel her heart beating wildly even through his body armor.

Without saying another word, he yanked her down the hallway, ignoring her tirade as he manhandled her without a second thought about it. He didn't trust himself to talk to her with anyone else around-not as agitated as he was and as vulnerable as she looked.

Once they were out in a relatively sheltered part of the yard, he released her only to have to turn back around immediately to grasp her arm as she swung it at him for pushing her around. He had been five seconds away from decking her, and hitting a woman was something he just didn't do. "Either calm the hell down or leave, Bones." They were both too emotional for him to guess what had upset her this time.

"You can't order me around," she spat at him angrily.

**_Still I wonder why it is,_**

Booth realized that he shouldn't be surprised that his partner could shift from tears of heartbreak to murderous rage within moments. If she had the capacity to yank his emotions around like that, it seemed only fair that she might suffer the same crippling mood swings.

"You just barged into a room where arrests were being made and agents had their guns drawn ready to shoot to kill. I'm the agent in charge of this case. I can order you around if I damn well want to."

"I was just trying to be your partner and be part of the team."

"By what? Having me shoot and kill you? I will have nightmares about that for weeks, Bones! If it had taken me one second longer to figure out it was you, you'd be dead." His gut rolled and turned and his knees felt like rubber just considering how close he'd been to pulling that trigger while his weapon had been aimed directly at her.

"I knew you wouldn't shoot me," she offered as much to console him as to remind her that she knew it to be true.

"Well, you didn't know that someone else in that room wouldn't. What the hell, Bones?"

**_I don't argue like this,_**

"You're freezing me out. You aren't working with me like a partner. You didn't tell me about this stunt."

"Not stunt. Sting. It's a sting, Bones. I don't help with everything at the lab. You don't need to help with the messiest police work. You have a long history of not controlling yourself with gang members and I can't give you a firearm. Having you part of this bust didn't make any sense, and asking you to be here would have broken at least three regulations."

"But we're partners," she insisted angrily to hide her fear that he had been choosing to work without her.

**_With anyone but you,_**

"Well, why don't you try calling me and asking to help instead of just barging the hell in and trying to get yourself killed," he snapped sarcastically.

"I did call. You didn't answer."

"Well, did it ever occur to you that I might be involved in... oh, I don't know... capturing gang members or something else important or risky? I don't ignore your calls, Bones. I wasn't ignoring you."

"Well, I didn't know that. I... I don't know how to read you... not anymore."

"Well, I sure as hell can't read you either! "Little Miss Rational and Logical" has been acting anything but. What possible logical explanation could you have for barging in on a bust, Bones, besides trying to drive me crazy?"

"You're shutting me out, and you're keeping things from me!" she yelled as if those were the real reasons she had been upset.

"Well, what are you going to do, Bones? Call and rat me out to your new boyfriend—MY BOSS? How does your dating my boss and not telling me fit into our neat little partnership agreement?"

_Crap, did I really say that out loud?_ Now she probably knew he'd been spying on her. Well, one of them had to keep her out of danger, and she had shown that day that she hadn't even been trying.

She inhaled sharply and her knees felt more like liquid than bone. "I... You...," she stammered, unable to find the right words. Booth was good, but he wasn't that good. There weren't many logical explanations for how he might know that Hacker had asked her out, and she was fairly certain that her suitor had not called Booth to tell him. _That meant... _She shuddered to think what Booth might have overheard—and what he might have seen. As much as his accusation pained her, she returned to the matter at hand. She had a point to make and thinking about that had been better than considering the fact that Booth might have just seen her kissing someone else. In true Brennan fashion, she rebounded quickly and threw out a few verbal punches of her own.

"Fine, I'm having coffee with Andrew. I'm single. He asked. I accepted. It just happened, and I'm telling you about it. At least if I date your boss, you can't tell me he's an idiot, and I know you won't want to discuss whether he's heterosexual!"

_Good Lord Almighty! _This felt like a relationship fight. Even though they were talking about work, this argument had an edge to it that screamed that this was ever so personal. As he fumed and realized that this fight was more dangerous than invading the gang's hideout, Booth prayed. Booth prayed to as many saints as he could remember. St. Monica-his current favorite-the patron saint of patience. Man, he sure needed her help. She needed to follow Bones around and help everyone she dealt with—especially him. He also prayed to St. Jude and St. Eustace-if this weren't a desperate and difficult situation, he'd never been in one.

Frustrated by his silence and taking it to mean that he wasn't going to converse with her, Brennan continued attacking him, "You LIED to me, Booth! On my way out of the Hoover Building, I congratulated Ms. Villar on her upcoming date with you and she told me that you turned her down—that she had requested that you accompany her on a social outing but that you...," she paused, aching with the memory of the woman telling her that Booth had said that someone else had already captured his heart, "that you... weren't interested."

"Yes. I lied. I'm sorry. But you seemed so hell-bent on me going out. I thought you'd feel better... less I don't know-guilty or something... if I lied about going out with her." Rationally speaking Brennan knew that Booth had been being logical and that he had no idea that she'd had a complete breakdown just suspecting that he'd been planning to date Stacey Villar. But she had a hard time not being angry with him about it anyway.

"But you LIED to me, Booth!" she yelled back, the weight of her accusations pulling on both of them. "You snuck over here and left me out of the case. I can help outside the lab. I thought we were a team!"

He was still too furious with her to notice the hurt behind her words, "Dammit, Bones. That is not worth getting yourself killed over!"

**_We do it all the time,_**

Booth had been right. She had lost all touch with rationality. She was completely out of her element and felt unsafe and insecure. She considered telling him about her struggle, but her frustration with him took over again. She sniped back at him, "I don't know how you can expect anyone to date you if you won't tell the truth."

"You are way out of line, Bones. Way... out of line."

"I'm out of line! I have been entirely honest with you," she lied. "You're the one who is deviating from our established partnership agreement."

Surprising him, she threw out another accusation that showed she had thought she had been justified in picking this fight with him, "You also asked Andrew for time off. You're taking a vacation and you didn't even tell me."

**Blowing out my mind,**

If Booth could have imploded from sheer frustration, he would have done so in that moment. He had been almost angry enough to go beat the hell out of his boss over it. But he managed to hold back on any more Hacker-related remarks. He knew that his anger over her plans to date Hacker ran too deeply for them to discuss now—maybe ever. Bones was clearly upset and trying to follow her train of thought at the moment was making him dizzy. So he stopped trying and decided he'd just leap in along with her and frustrate her as well, "Jeez, Bones. Don't you have bones to examine or something instead of analyzing every single thing I do and nit picking me about everything? I just mentioned the time off to Hacker. I never take vacations, so I thought that asking way in advance made sense. I would have talked with you about it—when and if I planned an actual vacation."

"Booth?" Mikulski asked as he appeared from out of nowhere, trying to get the agent's attention. He scrambled for an authentic question to ask the man since he'd intervened with only the purpose of letting Booth know that the privacy of his conversation with Dr. Brennan had been compromised. It had been clear to him that neither Dr. Brennan nor Booth had noticed that a crowd of curious agents had assembled to watch the partners screaming at one another.

Booth looked up and realized instantly why Mick had called out to him, "You all have jobs to do and gang members to arrest and take downtown. Don't make me babysit you," Booth barked. The men and women scattered back into the house instantly upon seeing the look on the lead agent's face. Booth nodded his silent thanks to Mick. He owed that man a beer.

Brennan turned to leave, but Booth stopped her by grasping her elbow as lightly as he had been able to manage given his anger and frustration, "No, you don't get to leave. You need to listen to me...," he hissed, pulling her out around past his SUV and into the street so that none of his coworkers could observe them. After taking a moment to make sure that the area was clear and that they were safe there, he turned to face his very upset partner, "Have you changed your mind, Bones? Are you trying to make it impossible for me to work with you and still do my job or something? Do you want an out—are you trying to make me give you one?"

Surprising him, she allowed tears to spring to her eyes. Yet she said nothing.

"I'm trying here, Bones. But this... whatever the hell has been going on since late last week... it's not working... We're not working..."

She longed to have the courage to tell him that she was simply falling apart at the seams… that he had unleashed something between them that seemingly could not be bound… that she had been fighting like hell to get back to that place where being near him didn't affect her, stir her hormones, drive her nearly mad with longing and… with love. But such a confession was simply beyond her. And the fact that Booth seemed to be telling her that he could no longer work with her had chased away the remnants of her courage to begin to try.

Strangled into silence by emotions she had no experience managing, Temperance looked up at her partner. Lines of worry creased his brow, and his eyes were smoldering with anger and fear and other more tender feelings kept well camouflaged from everyone else but her. She observed his mandible click into that set position it always assumed when he was angry or threatened or worried. As unspeakably angry as he was, she watched silently as the man arranged invisible armor into place to protect himself and to shield her from wounds he knew would slay both of them if they started a more serious conversation in that moment. And she loved him for the effort... for his patience... for his restraint... for every single moment they'd ever spent together.

**_You've got this look I can't describe,_**  
**_You make me feel like I'm alive,_**

Although he'd been pressed to the brink and on the verge of telling her that she had to stop or they wouldn't be able to work together, Booth paused and watched the swirl of emotion hiding behind the brilliant blue of his partner's eyes. As absolutely furious as he'd been with the risk she'd taken and with the way she'd rushed into that room earlier, his anger melted away when he saw her fear and her need of him and her pain evident in that face—that face that held watch over his thoughts and his dreams. Despite his fury, he loved her for her stubbornness... and for her determination to keep him at bay despite the fact that they both knew he'd be good for her and to her... and for the way that she made his heart melt every time she showed him a tiny glimpse into the well-guarded center of her soul.

_Without a doubt you're on my side,_

**When everything else is au fait,**

Not knowing what else to do and reacting without thinking about anything but the expression on her face, he leaned forward and pulled her into his arms, hugging her in a way that they both needed but that did not even remotely resemble a guy hug. He pressed his firm body against hers, closing his eyes as he memorized the way that her curves fit so blissfully against him. Binding her to him, Booth leaned down and nestled his head onto her shoulder and into her hair, taking the time to breathe in the fact that she was alive and that he needed her and that she did—although she'd fought so hard to deny it—need him, too.

Brennan allowed her partner to envelop her, barely breathing as his taut muscles demanded that her own give way to his hold. She stood there, held upright by his body and by the hot metal of the SUV pressing into her back. She felt "boneless" for the first time in her life. It was abundantly clear to her now that Booth was her anchor, her rock, the support upon which she depended even more than her beloved bones.

**_Heaven has been away too long,_**  
**_Can't find the words to write this song,_**  
**_Oh..._**  
**_Your love,_**

Heedless of the rundown neighborhood surrounding them or of the potential for any of a number of FBI agents or technicians or even his boss to show up and witness their intimate embrace, the pair stood there embracing silently for a long moment and wishing they were doing so much more, wordlessly conveying to one another how much the bond between them mattered and how nothing—no argument, no frustration, no pain, no distance—could ever break the immutable bond that had woven their lives and their hearts together.

When he'd first touched her, Booth had sworn that he'd done so to alleviate the pain and the fear he sensed in his partner, but he now realized that he had also needed that close, tender connection to ground him, to remind him that what they shared was special and worth enduring agonizing heartbreak over and taking risks to protect. As he relished the private moment just to hold her as if nothing else in the world mattered (and knowing that nothing else in the world really did), Booth closed his eyes and willed himself to try to feel what might be going through his partner's mind. He waited, sensing eventually that she had relaxed and calmed down enough for him to try to talk to her.

After planting a chaste kiss in her hair, he pulled up to his full height while keeping his head tilted down toward hers. Had they been in another time and another place, he'd have been unable to help himself from leaning down and crushing her lips with his. But he sensed that Bones needed him to rescue her from both of them in that moment. All he could see now was the wounded woman who'd been crying about him all morning. This was the wrong time and the wrong place to dare to broach the subject that had nearly ripped the two of them apart the first time.

"You okay, Bones?" he heard himself ask in a strange voice. She smiled up at him slightly and nodded to let him know that she was. He reached up and ran a tentative finger along her jawbone, feeling her shudder at the intimate touch. As his phalange reached the tip of her mandible and raised it so that he had the best view of her incredibly beautiful face, Brennan heard Booth speak to her again softly, "You have to trust me, and I have to be honest with you. No more trying to get yourself shot. Not on my watch. Okay, Bones?"

She nodded, unable to stop staring at the planes and angles of his face as if she hadn't long since memorized each and every beautiful one of them.

"You're my partner and my friend. You're more than my partner and my friend. A promise is a promise, Bones. You can't get rid of me," he said so tenderly that it melted what had been left of her heart. She'd rationalized that analogy away as soon as it had entered her mind, but she had to admit that it certainly felt as if her heart had switched from solid to liquid.

She nodded again and felt as much as watched him take a step back from her. "We both need to get back to work," he said quietly, expecting her to want to immerse herself in forensics to calm down and clear her head. A bit surprised that she still wasn't talking, he watched her to see if she were really fine. It appeared that she was.

Expecting her to leave for the lab now that he'd relinquished his hold on her, Booth turned and walked slowly back inside the building to supervise what was left of the takedown. One more minute there, and he'd have left his post and dragged the woman he loved off to beg her to let him love her. He had a job to do, dammit, and he would shoot someone if he couldn't do something normal—and soon.

After watching her partner leave, Brennan turned and walked slowly down the sidewalk and climbed into her car. She took a moment to calm down. Her mind had been a rush of thoughts, feelings, emotions, and fears too numerous for her enormous brain to catalog. She felt woozy, light headed—the effect Booth had on her was mind-altering. She might have crashed her car into something or run over someone had she not noticed the young man in the wheelchair crossing the street. He had been watching the gang's lair as he slipped to his car noticed by nobody but her. Ever curious even after coming so close to blurting out her feelings, Brennan jumped out of her car and walked over and examined his van carefully, noting how it had been outfitted for use by someone with a chair. Memorizing his license plate number and knowing that he'd need time to settle into the vehicle, Brennan continued to walk around the vehicle. She felt compelled to search it carefully and quickly lost herself in doing so. She was so focused on her work and so heedless of the man—few men actually caused her to fear that she might not be able to overtake them—that she didn't notice that the man had rolled his chair over to her and was now threatening her to stop and move away from his automobile. Brennan turned and started asking the man questions, each of which made him increasingly uncomfortable. He got angry and started shouting at her loudly. He reached down and pulled out a weapon just as a wildly angry Booth rounded the corner and disarmed him.

After cuffing the man and calling for agents to take him to FBI headquarters, Booth turned to look at Bones, astounded with her capacity to make him feel all range of emotions and to drag him through all of them in an instant. He was grateful that he'd just felt that Bones had still been there. He'd had no tangible reason to go back out and check on her. Perhaps the saints realized how much he needed for Bones to be safe even if she couldn't stay safely within his arms.

"Go back to the lab now, or I'm calling Mick to drive you there," he said with as much restraint as he could muster given the fact that she'd put herself at risk and at freaking gunpoint twice within an hour.

"But that man was a potential suspect."

"And we'd have gotten to him, Bones. Can you just get the hell back to the lab so that I don't have to worry about where you'll turn next to try to get yourself shot?"

"I am perfectly capable..."

**_Still I wonder why it is,_**

Booth held up a hand to silence her, "Stop it right now, Temperance. I'm not arguing with you... not anymore... not today."

"But I..."

**_I don't argue like this,_**

After glaring at her for a long moment, Booth turned and yelled over his shoulder, "Mick, I need you to drive Dr. Brennan back to the lab right now!"

"Sure thing, Boss," Mikulski added nervously, nodding to a coworker and asking him to bring his supplies back to the lab.

"Booth, I do not need a babysitter!" Brennan growled at her partner who had begun ignoring her because he refused to let her bait him into another argument.

**_With anyone but you,_**

Surprising her, Booth whirled, spun her around, and pinned her against the van as he would have a criminal. Her anger flaring, she stood there humiliated and immobilized as Booth held her firmly against the vehicle while he searched her and found the gun she'd hidden inside her jacket pocket. Brennan kicked herself internally for feeling a bit of regret that hadn't had to search her more thoroughly to find the weapon. She had been so angry that she shouldn't have wanted his body anywhere near hers, but she had. And her embarrassment had been made worse because she thought that she had been the only one affected by the situation. She couldn't tell that Booth's knees had been wobbly and that he'd held his breath as he pressed her body against the van to search her.

**_We do it all the time,_**  
**_Blowing out my mind,_**

Shaking his head, Booth handed the weapon to Mick and informed him that he had his permission to shoot the anthropologist if she drove him anywhere except the lab. Booth would have laughed out loud at the angry expression on his partner's face had he not fully expected her to kick him in the groin if he had.

Giving the woman a wide berth since he fully expected her to be able to disarm him within seconds, Mick slipped the gun into his pocket. It was amusing to watch the nearly unflappable woman pout and storm over to her car. He had to rush to catch up with her, not willing to risk the chance that he might have to face Booth and tell him that she'd gotten away from him.

After a long, silent ride back to the Hoover Building, Brennan parked the car out front so that Mick could get out of the car. He carefully handed the weapon to her and couldn't help noticing that she still looked visibly shaken by the day's events. Uncertain what to say to comfort her and fearing that she might resent any attempt on his part to do so, the man spoke tentatively to her, "I've known Booth for ten years, Dr. Brennan. He refused to work with any partner before you, and I have never seen him look as truly frightened as he did today when he realized that he'd pointed his weapon at you. He may make you angry and what he does might not seem fair or rational, but he does what he does to protect you. He cares for you, too," he trailed off, stopping just short of stating the ridiculously obvious fact that her partner loved her more than life itself.

He'd braced for what he'd expected to be the full wrath of the angry anthropologist, but she appeared to be too exhausted from the day's events to muster the energy he'd expected.

"We're partners," she said as if it were the first time she'd uttered those oft-repeated words, suddenly struck afresh by the significance of the term and the emotional attachment those words encapsulated. She watched as the technician climbed out of the car and paused momentarily to wave at her before heading into the building.

Yet again opting for home rather than returning to her beloved laboratory, Brennan found herself about three glasses deep into a bottle of Booth's favorite wine when her phone rang.

"Sweetie, are you okay?" Angela asked concern evident in her tone.

"I'mmm fine, Ange," Brennan said slowly, trying to hide the tendency of her voice to slur its words just a bit.

"You never came back to the lab. I was just calling to tell you that I turned everything off and told Cam that you were busy at the scene."

"Thanks, Ange," Brennan replied, afraid to say anything else lest she confess her deepest and darkest secrets.

"Booth came by earlier, Sweetie. He looked… I don't know what was going on with him. He was off… distracted. He was also worried that you hadn't come back to the lab. Is something going on, Bren? I'm worried about you."

"There's nothing wrong with me that hasn't been wrong with me since I've known you," Brennan confessed without meaning to say anything. If her friend hadn't been sidetracked by worry, she might have even called her out about that statement. Brennan had just said out loud—albeit indirectly—that what was wrong with her was that she was in love with Booth.

"I don't know what that means," Angela said, struck by the oddity of her making that statement to Brennan when Brennan said that in nearly every conversation.

"I'm fine, Ange. This case… this case is just difficult, that's all."

"So you waited until now to take my advice—glug, glug, woo-hoo?" Angela asked her best friend.

Brennan chuckled at the memory and realized that she would likely have a headache in the morning.

"Why don't I come over with ice cream?" Angela offered.

"No. I'm tired and just want to go to sleep," Brennan implored her.

"Bren, honey, you can't keep hiding things from me... and from Booth."

"I am well aware that ignoring certain feelings has created significant problems," Brennan replied honestly and surprising her friend.

"How many glasses of wine have you had?"

"Three," Brennan confessed as she polished off the last of the glass and poured another.

"Honey, you need to stop drinking and start talking."

"I will... once I find the right words," Brennan said, clicking off the call accidentally. She immediately sent a text message to Angela to ease her worry. "Sorting my thoughts out. Will talk to you soon. Promise."

As she typed that response, her partner's words from earlier that day came rushing back to her, _"You're my partner and my friend. You're more than my partner and my friend. A promise is a promise, Bones."_

**_Now I have come to understand,_**  
**_The way it is,_**  
**_It's not a secret anymore,_**  
**_'cause we've been through that before,_**

Somewhere along the way, she had reached a conclusion. He really was not going to leave her or abandon her as his partner or friend even though she'd given him ample reasons to do both that day alone. But the bigger truth that was shaking Temperance Brennan in that very moment had been that she had to admit that she was unequivocally and irrevocably in love with her partner, and he seemed just as helpless to fight his own feelings. They were driving each other crazier than they had for the previous five years. Ever since Booth had expressed his feelings and she'd lied about hers, they'd begun acting less like partners and less like friends even though they were pretending nothing had changed. Booth had been right. Something had to change—she couldn't continue to take such risks to test his willingness to stay even after she'd broken his heart. Fighting with Booth and keeping him off balance had seemed an ideal way to ignore the emotional connection between them while keeping them engaged and near one another, but she realized now that it would hurt their professional relationship and might—if today were any indication-get one or both of them killed. She felt pure panic when she remembered the way he'd jumped so fast to protect her that afternoon. She realized that she couldn't put him in danger like that anymore.

Temperance also now decided that she had to be the one to do something about the situation. Booth had shown her today that he would not cross that line again. He had been loyal and true and respected her wishes that they remain only partners and friends. He'd wanted to do so much more than hold her that afternoon—his body had told her what his heart had been afraid to utter as he'd held her close. She was going to have to reach out to him somehow—that or run away to a dig so far away that he'd never find her. She scoffed about all the times Booth and others had called her brave. For, at the moment, she felt anything but.

She sat there polishing off the last of the wine and reflecting on the fact that the bickering and fighting she and Booth did constantly was a twisted form of foreplay. No wonder Sweets kept bringing that up with them. With that line Booth had deemed necessary drawn boldly between them, they had both taken turns sparring and warring and dancing and flirting and tap-dancing up to the edge of it. Neither of them wanted or needed that line to be there—not anymore. Admitting how angry Booth had the power to make her had been as hard as admitting how much she loved him. She had read before that there was a thin line between love and hate, and Brennan now understood that expression. She'd allowed herself to get extremely angry with her partner. She'd needed and outlet for her feelings and had found no other viable option for expressing them. Anger had been the only emotion strong and overpowering enough to substitute for the passion and love they each felt for the other.

But now that she'd made him furious, broken his heart, and scarred him for life by showing up in the sights of his weapon, she had no idea to change their course. How does one shift from intense anger to something more positive and hopeful for the future? She'd never had another relationship that brought any of the extreme emotions Booth seemed to pull from her without even trying. She was ill-equipped to manage any of them and confused about what to do next. Still, one thing was no longer confusing—her feelings for her partner had made themselves evident and appeared to be staking a claim to her heart whether her brain argued or not.

**_From tonight I know that you're the only one,_**  
**_I've been confused and in the dark,_**  
**_Now I understand,_**

Booth figured that it had indeed been a long day—one of the longest he'd ever had. Longer than days he'd been tortured and put through suffering he'd never talked about with anyone. The biggest sign that this had officially been a day for the record books had been the fact that he hadn't even been tempted to call or text or to contact his partner in any way. Sure, she'd had a hellish day. Yes, she probably needed someone to talk to. But it couldn't be him—not today. She'd pushed him to hell and back more than once that day. He'd wanted to deck her, hold her, strangle her, kiss her senseless, kick her ass, and ravish her-each emotion hitting his heart in rapid succession over and over again like a series of blows to the head.

The woman had always driven him crazy, but things had definitely shifted. They were both being reckless. She was doing ridiculously stupid, risky things, and he was losing his cool and yelling at her about his boss in front of his co-workers. _Jeez..._ There had been too much tension, too much fire, too much need... Their partnership had reached the crisis point. Booth had actually been on the verge of telling Bones that he couldn't work with her anymore. He'd hate to take such a radical step, but dammit, she'd almost made him shoot her!

**_I wonder why it is,_**  
**_I don't argue like this,_**  
**_With anyone but you,_**

How was he supposed to forget the sheer dread he'd felt when he'd seen her at the end of his own weapon? He saw her from that vantage point every time he closed his eyes. How was he supposed to sleep knowing that she could be dead and that it would have been his fault? Did she have any idea the way that his fear about what could have happened paralyzed him mind, body, and soul?

He had been so wound up and overwrought that he couldn't imagine even talking with her about dissolving their partnership. With the stakes that high, the argument that would ensue would be catastrophic, and he didn't have the energy to say "hello" much less "it's been really nice working with you." Bones had simply drained the fight out of him. Nobody else had ever riled him up the way that she did. And the fact that she could rid him of that anger just as quickly terrified him. While he'd found fighting with her to be more than a turn on too many occasions (including today), they'd reached their limit or something. They'd crossed some kind of line.

That was it, he realized. That night as they had stood in their trench coats like Bogey and Bergman in Casablanca after leaving Sweets' office, Booth had stepped over the line he'd drawn for them, and there had been no going back. He'd smudged the remnants of the division away. Now when he and Bones fought, there was more at stake than just peace and quiet and getting one's own way. Without that stark line keeping them at a safer distance, they could now wound one another more deeply, push one another farther, and wreak havoc on their hearts and their very souls.

He'd thought that he'd be able to hold back and keep a safe distance from her as they continued to work together-to restrain himself for both their sakes, but now he knew better. In fact, he'd always known better. Bones had always been and still was the only person who could really harm him, and she had been proving it by ripping right through every façade he tried to put up. Some took more time than others, but she saw right through him—right to the very core of him—to the heart that beat only for her. As strong and brave and capable as he was, he was most powerless to defend her from him and utterly unable to begin to try to defend himself from her.

**_I wonder why it is,_**  
**_I won't let my guard down,_**  
**_For anyone but you_**  
**_We do it all the time,_**  
**_Blowing out my mind,_**

If she hadn't finally pushed him too far away, Temperance knew that she needed to find a way to spend some time with her partner so that they could talk. Knowing Booth the way she did, she expected him to keep her away from him for a while—to get no closer to her than a text message without a room full of people around. He'd avoid her and keep her at a distance so that both of them could get some much-needed perspective and so that he could put up barriers to keep her from undermining his plans to pretend that nothing between them had changed.

Because he was so much like her in some very important ways, she understood that he needed some time to regain his balance and his sense of control. She'd taken both away from him today while trying to regain her own. She knew that he'd need some time before he'd even allow her to have a chance to talk to him, but she was determined that, after giving him some time, she'd talk to him and tell him how she truly felt. She was terrified that he might say that it was too late—that she'd missed her chance or pushed him too hard. But she had to try. She owed him the honesty of showing him her true emotions. She owed him so much more.

She loved him with all of her heart—and with her enormous brain... and deep down in her bones.

**_Just like a star across my sky,_**  
**_Just like an angel off the page,_**  
**_You have appeared to my life,_**  
**_Feel like I'll never be the same,_**

Booth sat staring at the muted television screen trying to pretend that after working out, eating well and showering he had washed the day's events away. He smirked and shook his head as he sat there alone—frustrated by the way that his mind would not stop its analysis of everything that had happened with his partner recently. His gut was mocking him—telling him that today had been proof that trying to pretend that he could just work with his partner and be a supportive friend for her the way he'd done for five years was now futile. Despite his best efforts, other people could now see his feelings for his partner as clearly as if they'd been there listening that night he'd pled with Bones to give things between them a chance. Perhaps she was buying the act because she had been even more terrified of losing him than he was of losing her, but Mick had seen it, Cam had been able to tell, and Angela seemed convinced that she knew his feelings for his Bones. Hell, even Parker could see through him. Some secretive federal agent he was.

As aggravating as the situation had become, it didn't stop Booth from being bombarded by thoughts other than lust and anger when he let his mind wander back through the events of the day. He sighed remembering the tears brimming in Bones' eyes when they'd been talking outside by the SUV. One tear spilling from her eyes because of him was too many. He was as unable to distance himself from her when she cried as he was to stop breathing of his own volition. He couldn't shower away the stresses of the day or rid himself of the fear he'd felt for her safety. Bones was so firmly immersed in his life and his heart and his feelings and his work that he couldn't escape her or stop thinking of her.

He smiled again sadly and relaxed as he let thoughts of her wash over him. Hell, he was going to give up that battle, too. Trying to get over Bones just wasn't possible. So he determined to do his best to be her friend and partner who suffered silently but sometimes didn't even pretend that he didn't still love her—all the while making peace with the fact that he'd never be able to stop doing so.

**_Just like a song in my heart,_**  
**_Just like oil on my hands_**

He loved her. It really was that simple. Loving her was just part of who he was.

_**Lyrics from Like a Star by Corinne Bailey Rae**_


	14. Chapter 14

_**[A/N: You're all spoiling me with your very kind words! I am grateful for your comments. Please keep me honest! **_

_**FYI-it might be a longer than normal wait for the next chapter. It's dealing with subject matter I don't usually write, and it might take me a while to get comfortable with it before posting.**_

_**This chapter was planned from the beginning—even before Booth started telling me his considerable thoughts about things. So it might seem like a departure, but it isn't… or it wasn't… This isn't a chapter that will place our beloved Bones and Booth on separate continents, and it's not a dream, and nobody has a tumor or anything, but I am fairly confident that this was not what any of you were thinking would happen next. Please let me know if I'm wrong about that….]**_

**Chapter 14: Life is Full of Surprises**

_**The only thing that should surprise us is that there are still some things that can surprise us. – Francois De La Rochefoucauld**_

Brennan had had been right in predicting that Booth would avoid her for most of the week. Nearly all of the forensic evidence from the three sets of remains had been analyzed, and most of the current work on the case involved tracking down the gang members who'd gone into hiding. Booth had spoken to Bones only a few times to pacify her, and he'd been a bit unnerved by the way that she had accepted his demand that she remain in the lab and out of harm's way. She'd even blown off his attempt to apologize for disarming her in front of the team. Something with her was definitely off. But Booth knew well that Bones didn't do anything she didn't mean to do, so he was not above taking a gift horse and being grateful for it. He'd smiled to himself when that thought had crossed his mind. He had known that his partner wouldn't have understood a word of his twist on that old expression.

The only time the partners had seen one another had been for the interrogation of the man in the wheelchair. Fortune had smiled at them when Brennan had stumbled upon him. The man had been identified as the younger brother of the gang's leader. Booth had held the younger Kwon on charges of assault for pulling his gun on Bones. They'd also found evidence that the gun had been used in another shooting long associated with the gang, so he'd had even more reason to hold him. Kwon had been injured years earlier as the result of retaliatory gang violence against his older brother. Booth and several other agents had been able to learn from other gang members in custody and from old police records that the gang's leader felt guilty for his brother's paraplegia and that he doted on him and protected him fiercely—sometimes violently.

During the interview, it had become obvious that Kwon was more like a mascot than an actual member of the gang. The other gang members who had been talking to the FBI had confessed to watching out for him and protecting him, but not one of them had indicated that he had been a major part of their crime ring. Despite the fact that he didn't appear to be a major criminal, both Brennan and Booth had quickly come to the conclusion that his van might be a significant source of information about their current case. Brennan had been the first to connect the van's age and equipment to Mr. Westar's missing vehicle. Booth had run the VIN number and discovered that the van outfitted with high-tech equipment to assist a driver in a wheelchair had originally belonged to Mr. Westar. Booth had rushed a team to the impound yard and they had found evidence of blood in the back of the vehicle. Hopeful that the automobile might provide them with evidence about the Westars' disappearance and murder, Booth had shipped the car to the Jeffersonian for analysis. It was doubtful that much evidence of the murder would have remained intact and identifiable so many years later, but the team was hopeful that they might find something.

In addition to being a fantastic new lead, the van had also given Booth a legitimate reason to keep Bones at work in the lab. He'd worried that they'd eventually fight about the fact that he simply wasn't allowing her to track down Kwon and his thugs. Having a need for her to supervise and analyze the evidence in the van gave him the opportunity he needed to keep her safe-and at a safe distance.

By the end of the week, the team at the Jeffersonian had found DNA evidence in the carpet fibers that clearly linked the Westars' blood to the back of the van. They'd also found Richie Park's blood in the vehicle. They still needed more evidence, but it was beginning to look as if they were building a sound case. They just needed something to point them to one specific gang member so that they could make the case airtight.

Booth pressed Kwon for more information and got very little. He'd leaned on him pretty hard, telling him that he knew that he'd killed the Westars and assuring him that he'd spend the rest of his life in jail. Booth could tell instinctively that the man had never killed anyone. But the man's reaction had given Booth an idea of a new angle for how they might proceed.

With FBI teams smoking the hidden gang leaders out of hiding places and with swarms of agents hot on their trail, Booth had played his trump card. After consulting with April and Andy Westar and telling them he hoped this move would bring April's parents' killer to justice, he had placed them in protective custody and put out a press release about the case, announcing to the world that Kwon Yong Sook (the gang leader's brother who was in custody) had been arrested and that the FBI was planning to prosecute him in a capital murder case. The details used in the press stirred public resentment against Kwon—as Booth had hoped, few had any sympathy for a man who would kill a woman, her disabled husband and another child. Now that the media frenzy had begun, Booth was convinced that once the elder Kwon heard of the charges against his brother, he'd take action to make sure that his brother wasn't prosecuted for a crime he hadn't committed.

T R A N S L A T I O N . . . T R A N S L A T I O N . . . T R A N S L A T I O N . . . T R A N S L A T I O N . . .

By Thursday, Booth had begun feeling a bit more relaxed. They were making great progress on the case, and he and Bones had worked together well—albeit on a very limited basis—all week. After checking in with her to learn that she was planning to remain at the lab until the analysis of the evidence from the van was complete, Booth had run his final errands to prepare for Parker's birthday celebration. On Thursday night, he had called his son, happy to hear how excited the boy was about the coming weekend. He had reminded Parker to call a friend—any friend—and arrange for them to pick him up around 6:00 p.m. Friday night. Parker had chirped happily about how he'd call as soon as they hung up.

Booth sighed; he loved hearing his kid happy. When he'd asked him where he'd want to go for dinner, Parker had surprised him. Instead of some crazy kid-focused place full of video games and singing cartoon characters, Parker had asked to eat at Wong Foo's. While that was much more appealing to Booth than pizza only a kid could love, he'd asked his son why he'd made that choice. Parker had rattled off that Sid was cool and that he'd promised Parker that he could see some squid and other "creepy" stuff in the kitchen. Grinning at his son's enthusiasm, Booth assured him that he'd call Sid and arrange for the creepiest birthday dinner ever. Pleased with the way that the arrangements were coming together, he hung up and called in their dinner reservation. Work was going well, plans for the party were moving along spectacularly, and he and Bones had fallen back into some semblance of a normal working relationship. For the first time since he'd confessed that he wanted more with her, Seeley Booth started to feel as if things were going to work out just fine eventually.

T R A N S L A T I O N . . . T R A N S L A T I O N . . . T R A N S L A T I O N . . . T R A N S L A T I O N . . .

Friday flew by, and Booth rushed out of the office and to his apartment for a quick change into casual clothes before driving across town to pick Parker up. The kid had nearly tackled him as he ran down the steps and leapt into his arms. Fighting tears because he just wasn't going to be a cry-baby in front of his kid, Booth smiled at Rebecca with a knowing look as he hugged his son tightly. Shaking his head, he put his son on the ground and was struck by the fact that he no longer seemed like a tiny little kid. When had he grown up that much? Eleven year olds weren't supposed to look that big. He glanced to Rebecca to see that she was touched by the emotion she read on his face. She nodded sadly-sharing his sadness that their son was growing up faster than they were ready to face.

After collecting Parker's things and settling him comfortably in the back seat, Booth turned around and grinned at him conspiratorially, "So where to, Park? Who's your partner in crime for the evening?"

_Late Thursday evening, Brennan had been reviewing the latest reports of the evidence from the van when her cell phone had buzzed to rouse her from her work. Frustrated by the interruption, she had picked up the phone and glanced at the display, prepared to hit the button to ignore the call. Surprised by the caller ID, she had accepted the call and answered with concern in her voice, "Brennan."_

"_Bones? Hi. It's me, Parker!" the boy had said eagerly. _

_She had smiled broadly. Parker was such an adorable child. She really had missed spending time with him lately. "Well, hello, Parker Booth. To what to I owe the pleasure of this call? Aren't you up late for a school night?"_

"_It's not that late, Bones. I'm a big kid now. I'm almost eleven, you know."_

"_Eleven?" she asked, fully aware of the child's age but a bit wistful remembering how small he'd been when she'd first met him. "Well, you certainly are growing up."She found remarks like that pointless, but she knew that children seemed especially fond of such obvious factual statements. _

"_I am. Guess what, Bones!"_

"_I'm a scientist. I don't make guesses, Parker. I make decisions based upon evidence."_

"_Oh. Yeah. Well, here's some evidence for you. My dad's taking me out to dinner for my birthday tomorrow night. And he said that I could ask anybody I wanted—anybody—to come with us…."_

_Brennan closed her eyes tightly to fight back the tears that had rushed at her unexpectedly. Surely this child wasn't suggesting what she suspected._

"_And... well, my mom had a party for me last weekend, and I've already seen all of my other friends. It was a sleepover, and we stayed up late and watched scary movies. You'd have loved it, Bones. There were zombies that looked really dead... with real-looking bones sticking out everywhere and stuff..."_

_Brennan's face lit up with an enormous smile as she listened to the boy ramble on excitedly. Her heart fluttered a bit as she realized how much she had missed hearing sincere Booth enthusiasm about something. She ached with the memory of silly conversations like this with Parker's father._

"_Well, like I was sayin', I've had a party with all my kid friends, and my mom and I had a cake last night, and dad's taking me and Pops fishin' tomorrow, so the only other person I wanted to see who I haven't seen in forever-is you!"_

_Biting her lip, Brennan couldn't help smiling. She paused, waiting for the little boy to continue. He took a deep breath and asked, "Is that enough evidence for you, Bones?"_

_She chuckled, "I'm not certain. Maybe you need to explain a bit more."_

"_Jeez, Bones. Will you go to dinner with us tomorrow night or not?" Parker sounded precisely like his father when he was exasperated._

_Her heart in her throat as emotion overwhelmed her, Brennan replied, "I'd love to."_

"_Awesome! Thanks, Bones! Hey, don't tell dad, okay? I want it to be a surprise. He's expecting some kid. He'll be so excited that you're gonna be there."_

_Brennan had felt pangs of guilt all that evening and the following day about keeping this secret from her partner. She'd picked the phone up at least five times to call him and hung up before dialing. Parker had asked her not to tell. She had very little experience with children, but it was Parker's birthday, and she could remember being excited about such milestones in her early childhood. She understood that giving away the surprise might spoil the boy's fun. Yet, she had a feeling that her partner would be angry with her for keeping this secret to herself. Hoping that he would understand the reason for her deception in the long run, she finally opted to keep Parker's secret. Booth would have time once Parker told him where to pick her up to adjust to the idea of seeing her. Would he refuse and call her with some excuse? Would he take her along and would things be awkward between them? Would they both suffer in silence pretending to be happy for the child's sake? With all those questions weighing on her mind, Brennan hadn't been fully able to look forward to the evening._

Booth watched a hint of concern flicker across his son's face before he responded. "I hope you'll be surprised, Dad. You're never gonna guess who I asked to come to dinner!"

"I'm with the FBI, kid. I'm great at guessing."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. What's my first clue?"

"That's easy. This friend lives in DC."

"In the city?" Booth asked as he smiled and turned around to start the car and point it back toward the district. Perhaps it was Pops. The old man would "pop" himself if he got to spend two days in a row out with the boys.

"Yep!" Parker suggested. "Who do you think it is?"

"Um...," Booth said stalling. He wasn't going to give Pops away on the first guess. He had to scramble for a moment before he remembered the names of two or three kids who lived in DC who played on Parker's baseball team.

"Scotty?" Booth asked, hoping he was right. That kid was as easy to take care of as Parker. Those two would have a blast snooping around in Sid's kitchen.

"Nope!" Parker chirped with a grin as wide as his father's.

"Hmmm...," Booth said formulating his plan. He'd guess another kid before guessing Pops. He wanted Parker to have a great night and thinking he had fooled his father would be a highlight.

"How about Pete?"

"Pete's having a sleepover at Jacob's," Parker replied, grinning again that his father still hadn't guessed.

Booth smiled back at him, ready to make his son happy. He'd just let Parker tell him about inviting Pops. The kid would be so proud of himself.

"Does Mitchell live in the district?" Booth asked, knowing full well that he did.

"Yeah! He does! But Mitchell's not coming out with us! You didn't guess! Three strikes—you're out!" Parker yelled, laughing hysterically in the back of the car. Booth relished the happy look on his son's face and tried to look sufficiently embarrassed.

"You got me, bud," Booth said with a sheepish grin. "Tell me who it is since I can't guess, and we'll go pick him up."

"Her, Dad," Parker said, pleased when his father's brow furrowed in confusion.

"Her?" Booth asked in surprise. "Parks, I know you're growing up, but you're not ready to start dating yet."

Parker laughed uproariously, "It's not a date, Dad!" he replied, still laughing hard at the suggestion.

"Okay... so this girl... Who's just your friend...," Booth began, raising his eyebrows in warning to and amusement with his son, "Where are we picking her up?"

"The lab, of course, silly!" Parker howled. He was thrilled beyond measure by the way that Booth looked shocked. Booth knew better to hope that the boy had invited Angela or even Cam... _Holy Mother of... Saint Monica, tell me I'm wrong about this..._

"It's Bones, Dad! She's waiting for us at the lab. I called her last night. I knew you'd be surprised! She kept it a secret. You are surprised, aren't you, Dad?"

Shaking his head, Booth smiled even though the smile didn't quite reach his eyes, "Yeah. Yeah, pal... I'm surprised all right."

As Parker chatted happily about pulling one over on his old man, Booth's mind was racing. Could he and Bones manage to behave normally in front of Parker for an hour or so? Did she resent being asked to be there? His mind ran through at least a dozen scenarios, and most of them worried him. But the drive to the lab was a short one and he didn't have enough time to feel prepared to face her in what he knew she would describe as a "purely social setting."

Parker skipped along beside his father when they entered the building but then bolted for Bones' office once they were inside the lab. Allowing his son the pleasure of informing his partner about how surprised he'd been, Booth lagged back a bit, dreading seeing the look on his partner's face. Eventually, he arrived at the door and propped on his forearm high against the doorjamb as he watched the pair of conspirators talking about something.

Booth cleared his throat and both of them looked up at him—one with sheer happiness and the other with more than a bit of trepidation. "So I hear you've been in cahoots with the other special agent in the Booth family," Booth said, trying to keep his emotions at bay. Bones had been hugging his son when he walked in. He hadn't anticipated the surge of raw emotion that image would hurl in his direction.

"Sorry for keeping the secret from you, Booth. Parker asked me to promise. And... a promise is a promise, right?"

He gulped hard. As usual, Bones had the ability to disarm him with a glance. That one she had sent his way—plus her words to him-had lodged his heart in his throat momentarily.

"Yeah," he mumbled, too moved by her sentimental reference to their last emotionally charged conversation to say anything more.

"Parker, I believe that Dr. Hodgins had something he wanted to show you," Brennan said with a smile, "if we have time for you to talk to him," she asked Booth with a glance.

"Go find the bug guy," Booth said, rumpling his son's hair as the boy raced past him and out of the room.

"Bones, you didn't have to...," Booth began, not really knowing what to say to her.

She was prepared to spend the evening with them, but she was not equipped to allow Booth to gush at her over her attendance at dinner, "Nonsense, Booth. Parker invited me. I was honored. I am looking forward to celebrating his birthday. Anthropologically speaking, birthdays are an important means of allowing children to become part of the culture in which they live. Special meals and other social norms for recognizing the growth and development of children on their birthdays allow them to be acknowledged by those important to them and to improve their immersion in their communities."

"And your coming along was a really nice thing to do," Booth said with a genuine smile.

"Nice is not a word often used to describe me. I prefer to focus on the anthropological significance of the occasion," she demurred with a soft smile.

Despite the conversation they were having, neither of them had been focusing on the anthropological significance of the occasion. There would be plenty time for that when Parker returned to become the center of the attention. But in that quiet moment when they were practically alone, something—some hidden conversation—happened between the partners. Booth seemed unable to hide the fact that he was looking at her as if he hadn't been admiring her from afar for years and she smiled back at him openly—in a way she hadn't in ages.

Trying not to let him distract her with that intense expression on his face, Brennan completed her work and put her things away.

Compelled by the evening's events, Booth took her jacket from the coat rack near the door and held it out for her as she crossed the room to meet him. His heart was stutter-stepping knowing that Bones was risking her own happiness to do something nice for his kid (and for him).

She had felt emboldened by the smile on his face. Perhaps agreeing to join them for the evening hadn't been a mistake.

Booth had already placed his hand on the small of her back to lead her out of the room when she paused and asked him to wait. She walked over to a cabinet and opened it, pulling out a brightly wrapped package covered in what appears to be professional baseball team logos.

"Bones, you didn't have to..."

"Of course, I did, Booth," she interrupted, smiling a genuinely happy smile at him as he watched her walk toward him. _God, he'd pay money to keep that expression on her beautiful face._ It took all his self control for Booth to wait for her to pass and then to just catch up and walk with his hand on her back the way they'd done countless times.

Things were surprisingly quiet in the car. If Booth hadn't known better, he'd have thought that Parker had been leaving the grownups some time alone to talk. Thinking too much about the fact that his son might be becoming a psychological expert or something gave him a headache, so Booth decided that Parker really was as captivated by the toys Angela and Hodgins had given him as they'd hoped.

Smiling over at his partner hopefully-and hopefully not awkwardly, Booth decided to stick to talk about work to keep things light and normal between them. He told her that they were getting really close to wrapping up the case. He explained that he was certain that it would be merely days before they arrested the gang leader. He told her about how they had issued a statement to the press that they'd arrested his brother and that they expected him to show up demanding that he be released. She conceded that work was being tidied up nicely and filled him in on the latest details from the lab.

Out of practice and reeling from how "normal" the whole evening had been thus far, the partners became awkwardly quiet. Booth sensed her discomfort. "Hey, thanks again for coming out with us tonight, Bones."

"You can stop thanking me, Booth. I am happy to celebrate this milestone for Parker."

Booth looked over at her gratefully and tried to squelch his hope that Parker wasn't the only Booth she'd looked forward to spending time with. Bones met his gaze for a moment and then looked away as if to hide something. The silence screaming between them instantly became deafening, but neither of them knew how to stop it.

When they arrived at the restaurant, parking outside Wong Foo's had been impossible—as it often was on weekend nights. Booth pulled up to the curb near a fire hydrant to let Bones out with Parker. Smiling at both of them, he told them to go on inside and that he'd meet them once he parked the car. Feeling more normal about things and hopeful that they could relax and have a good time, he threw in a wisecrack asking them not to eat everything before he made it to the table. They both had laughed in response and begun teaming up to tease him about how it was widely acknowledged that he had the biggest appetite in the bunch.

Outside on the sidewalk as they watched the SUV drive away, Parker tugged on Bones' slacks and thanked her again for coming. Unexpectedly moved by his simple thanks and the happy smile on his face, she pulled out her phone pretending to check a message and then said something to him almost absentmindedly. She needed to calm down. Booth had already begun destroying her ability to think clearly with his smiles and subtle touches. The sincerity and enthusiasm on Parker's face was draining the rest of her composure out of her. She had to get through this evening without spoiling things for Parker. This evening was important to him, and she couldn't help but feel that this evening would be terribly important to her and to her partner as well.

Momentarily overwhelmed, Brennan was quickly jolted out of her thoughts about what a distraction her partner had become to her and what the evening might bring for them. For, as she was putting the phone back into her purse, both Brennan and Parker were yanked backwards by the men in dark clothes who wrapped gloved hands over their mouths and pulled them roughly into the alleyway. 

_**Yeah. I really had to end it there. Booth's orders. I'm going to go hide now….Yell—I'm expecting it and I can take it.**_

_**Is this a bad time to remind you that I'm struggling to complete the next chapter and that it might take a while? I'm not stalling, I swear… just struggling to write the kinds of details I usually ignore.]**_


	15. Chapter 15

_**[A/N: Warning: This update includes violence. Tender readers should not tread here.**_

_**I don't own Bones or its characters. Never have. Never will. I'm thinking that's a comfort to some of you in this moment.**_

_**I'm actually quite hopeful that you don't have the patience to read this long note before this chapter. But those of you who haven't seen it need to know that I love the movie Casablanca. I can't get similarities between that movie and the Bones 100**__**th**__** episode out of my brain, so little things keep popping up in this story. Those of you who haven't seen that incredible love story really should watch it. You will flip over the scene in the trench coats when you see similarities between that recent episode in Bones (and for other reasons I wouldn't dare spoil for you). It is a very old movie, but Humphrey Bogart plays Rick Blaine in Casablanca in a way that transcends time, completely colors black and white footage, and overshadows old, rudimentary special effects. I think you'll agree his willingness to do whatever he could for the woman he loved was very Booth-y—or, more correctly-Booth's willingness to do whatever he can for Bones is very Rick-like. Regardless, I'd forget all about watching Bones and run off with Rick if he were a real person and I could find him.**_

_**While I'm rambling on this long, I should post a public thanks to my wonderful pal GreysIsTheCatsPajamas since she sent so many of you here. I also want to thank Skole for reading this chapter and providing advice and for encouraging me so much. Skole's pretty much the cat's pajamas, too.] **_

Chapter Fifteen: The Truth and Its Consequences

_One of the greatest discoveries a man makes, one of his great surprises, is to find he can do what he was afraid he couldn't do.__ – Henry Ford_

As he parked the SUV quite a long way down the street, Booth sighed and grinned. The saints had been smiling on him after all. Without arranging for it or even asking, he'd been rewarded by the opportunity to spend the evening with his two favorite people—together. Despite all the reasons the meal they were about to have should have made him nervous, he felt relieved. Bones was being very Bones-y that night. She was almost back to behaving the way with him that she had before he'd gone all Rick Blaine on her and screwed up their perfect partnership. He had missed the easy way they could just be together, and he had hopes that tonight would be the first step in putting things between them back into the right places.

Just before he had opened the door, he caught a glimpse of the brightly wrapped package Bones had left on the floorboard of the car. Smiling at her generosity and the appropriate wrapping paper he had to assume she'd consulted with a salesperson to find, he lifted the box and pulled it up onto the console intending to take it with him into Wong Foo's in case Bones wanted to let Parker open it there or if she'd agree to help him tease Parker about its contents just to build the kid's excitement. He had been turning with the package to climb out of the SUV when he'd heard the first gunshot.

Years in the military and the bureau had provided Booth with an arsenal of experience for handling dangerous situations. As it always did, the moment he heard the first gunshot, time had slowed to a pace that gave him plenty of time to assess the potential danger, formulate a plan of action, and begin to follow it through. He wondered if time in the face of danger slowed as dramatically for others as it seemed for him. He suspected that it might not—he'd often used what Bones would deny was his sixth sense to his advantage and had often been the first to react in a difficult situation because of it.

While in actuality only seconds had passed, Booth's brain and body had kicked into overdrive the moment he'd heard the first sound of danger. He'd dropped the heavy box back onto the console instantly, turned and leapt out of the vehicle not even bothering to close the door behind him, and sprinted half a block, his gun already in his normally steady hand—safety clicked off as soon as his first foot had hit the pavement. As he pressed ahead and began encountering the people running away from the sounds that were drawing him closer, Booth told himself that there was absolutely no reason to panic. The gunshots had probably been a simple mugging. Bones and Parker had had plenty of time to enter the restaurant, sit down, and even order drinks. He had no logical reason to suspect that they'd be anywhere except safe in Sid's care. Of course, Bones might feel compelled to investigate or interfere with whatever was happening nearby, but he was fast. He'd be there quickly enough to stop her from doing something risky.

At least he hoped that would be the case. He and Bones had a longstanding balance in their relationship that gave him the confidence to assume that she wouldn't dig any deeper into any situation than he could reach to extract her. And she'd had his back more than once—even killed to protect him. Despite the dangers of their work and the unpredictability of the situations they faced, he and Bones and the seamless way they worked together were a constant—as constant as his love for her.

He'd been so focused on running at breakneck speed down the street and weaving in and out between people who were fleeing frantically that Booth hadn't noticed the sheen of sweat that had broken out all over him or the way that the hairs on the back of his neck had stood up on end. These changes had nothing to do with exertion or with fear or self-preservation. Scratch that—the hair on the back of his neck standing up as if to salute the flag or something had everything to do with fear. Because as soon as he'd reached the now nearly-deserted front of Sid's dining establishment, Booth had known—he had felt deep in his gut with an absolute certainty—that his worst nightmare had come true. The multiple gunshots he'd heard from far down the street had indeed been related to his beloved son and his Bones.

As the reality of the situation hit Booth, his gut twisted unnaturally and attempted to slow him down, but he couldn't stop himself from moving forward. There were not two other people on the planet he'd work harder to protect, sacrifice more quickly to save, or give as much to keep happy and safe and surrounded by his love and adoration. He loved his son so deeply that he could not put his feelings adequately into words. He simply raced ahead toward him without considering even a momentary pause. The fact that both Parker and Bones might both be hurt—or worse-would have crippled him had he had a reason to think that he couldn't do something to stop it, to save them, to intervene. His reaction was intended to keep the balance—to reach out and protect Bones from something bad but not something they couldn't overcome working together. That's just who they were. He had to get to his partner.

In the time warp of his mind as his body hurtled down the street at top speed, Booth made a conscious decision to move boldly and without due caution. Not even glancing into Wong Foo's because he just knew they weren't inside, he raced past the restaurant and rounded the corner into the alleyway. The calm, rational, experienced part of his cop's brain was screaming at him that he'd neglected to call for backup and that he was proceeding headlong without caution into what certainly would be a highly charged, extremely dangerous situation. His rational mind was too busy telling him that he'd been an absolute smug ass for calling off the security detail he'd assigned to cover Bones without her knowing about it. He'd been pompous enough to decide that he would be adequate security for his partner until she returned home later that evening. And then he'd dropped her off (with his son, God forbid) without even considering that he might be the very person shoving her through the door of danger and into harm's way-and that he'd sent his son right along into whatever hell had befallen them.

His senses and instincts on ultra-high alert, Booth rounded the corner and sprang into the alley without even considering the need for cover or his own safety. Bile rose up into his throat as he took in the view of the young Korean gang member lying face up near the entrance to the alley with a bullet through his forehead, staring at the sky as if it might have saved him. Not really even looking at the man after that initial glance because he wasn't his son or his partner, Booth's keen eyes searched the alley frantically for his loved ones. He came to a halt abruptly, frozen in place as he saw the elder Kwon standing to the left over next to Sid's restaurant, his weapon pointed directly at the heart of Booth's partner. Standing on the opposite side of the alley and a bit farther back away from Booth, Brennan flinched when Booth showed up unexpectedly, but she did not move her weapon from where she held it trained right back on her assailant. The only sign that she was nervous was the fact that she swallowed hard when Booth appeared.

They'd been in dangerous situations before, and they now had Kwon outnumbered, but Booth was temporarily sidelined by the fact that he couldn't see his son. "Bones?" he choked out in a hoarse whisper, ignoring the evil smirk on the face of the gang leader as he regarded him before returning his icy gaze to Brennan. "Parker... Bones, where the hell is Parker?"

Swallowing hard again and squeezing her left hand where she held it firmly against her back so that she could protect him, Brennan replied quietly, "He's right here, Booth. I've got him. I've got Parker. He's fine. He's right here behind me. Tell Booth you're fine, Parker."

"I'm fine, Dad. Bones was awesome! She saved me from the bad guy, Dad. She pulled me away from him and pulled out her gun and started shooting. She's really brave, Dad. Like movie star brave."

Booth looked at Bones, his expression conveying gratitude, admiration, respect, pride, and love. "She really is, Parks. You stay right there, you hear me? Stay right behind Bones. She's got you, bud. She'll keep you safe. You're going to be okay, just remember that, okay?"

Booth really would have been more than impressed if he'd witnessed what had happened before he got to the alley. When Kwon had grabbed Bones and his thug had grasped Parker, Bones had quickly shifted her hand in her purse from her cell phone to her gun and simultaneously kicked and elbowed Kwon hard enough to make him release her. Without hesitating, Brennan had taken advantage of her captor's distress by rushing the man holding Parker, grabbing the child away from him, whirling to put herself between the child and the man's weapon, and firing off the shot that ended the man's pathetic short life.

That shot had not been the first one Booth had heard—the one that had sent him running toward them. Recovering quickly from the pain and shock of Brennan's blows, Kwon had fired a shot that hit the back of Brennan's thigh. Despite the pain and the fact that she was facing a more than skilled opponent, Brennan had managed to pull Parker to relative safety behind her, fire her own weapon to eliminate the other attacker and swing it around toward Kwon, leaving them at the stalemate Booth had seen when he had entered the alley.

"I love you, Daddy," Parker said, emotion filling his small child's voice as he used the name for his father he'd recently proclaimed he was too mature to use anymore.

"Not as much as I love you, pal," Booth said, swallowing hard and cocking his weapon as he pointed it even more firmly at Kwon.

Ever the rational one of the partnership, Brennan began speaking quickly, "Booth, you should go inside and call for backup. I... I didn't have time to call. And you should... We don't know if there are others hiding, Booth. You should..."

"Call for backup?" a wicked voice said as the barrel of a gun appeared around the corner and was pressed against Booth's temple. The gang member who'd waited until the arrival of the man they'd most wanted to capture appeared and pressed his weapon even more harshly against Booth's temple. _Dammit_, Booth thought, he didn't make mistakes like this–not about his work. But tonight he had made so many rookie-like mistakes. _Why now when his son and his partner might have to pay for each and every one of them?_

Determined not to relinquish his weapon while he was still breathing and had other options, Booth maintained his aim on Kwon even as he felt the cold steel of the barrel so close that he knew his death would be instantaneous if the bullet were launched.

Seeing the concern on Brennan's face, Booth leapt into action, "No worries, Bones," he said in a clear voice as he looked at her and tried to signal her with the slightest flick of his eyes that he had been lying, "I already called for backup. There will be local cops and FBI agents swarming the place in about two minutes."

Booth thought he saw a flicker of understanding on Bones' face. He hoped she understood that he was telling her they were completely on their own.

"Drop your weapon, Pig!" Kwon barked from where he stood.

"Not happening," Booth replied, itching to pull the trigger and end the man who was placing his loved ones in harm's way. Had he felt confident in his ability to get a shot off quickly enough, he'd have taken it.

"You're so hell-bent on finding out what happened to that cop and her husband. What killed them, huh? One bullet? One bullet built to tear through flesh and bone until it hits brick or steel? One bullet like the one pointed at your girl and your kid?" Kwon growled.

Booth's gut twisted on him again. That near confession reminded him how easily that the angry man he had in his sights could seriously harm both of the people he loved most. Shifting into defensive mode and hoping that Bones would again follow his thought processes, Booth spoke again.

"She's not my girl," he said clearly, feeling like that statement was a lie even though technically it was the cold, hard truth. After glancing at Bones as if to apologize for the lie only he and she knew he was telling, he continued talking and staring intently at Kwon, "Bones… she's just my partner… my annoying partner who's always telling me how smart she is… and how stupid I am. And she's dating my boss... Earlier this week they were making out in the office. She rubs it in my face that she's dating the jerk... Do you know how hard it is being a man when a woman can have me fired for anything she doesn't like?"

"You expect me to believe that you don't have a thing for her? I watched you together in that interview room, man. I saw the way you looked at her tonight when you dropped her off for your date. You want her if you haven't tapped that yet. It's obvious. Hell, even your kid could see that."

For the first time in years, Booth found the silver lining in the fact that he hadn't convinced Bones to date him, "Well, I mean, look at her, she's gorgeous, right? And she dresses in ways that show it off. So I'm a guy... I can't help looking. But I can't touch. We're just friends. If I tried anything with her, she'd kick my ass and then my boss would kill me."

"Well, you care about her... even if she's just your partner. Killing her will cost you your partner. As long as you suffer, that's all I care about."

Booth pulled out his old bluffing techniques from his gambling days and hoped that they didn't seem as dusty as they felt being used after so long, "Hey, pal. You have no idea how hard I've tried to get reassigned—to avoid working with her. But Hacker throws his weight around and keeps me her partner—just to tick me off."

"Well, your boss won't be too happy with you for letting his girlfriend bleed out in front of you," Kwon hissed, sensing that Booth cared more than he was appearing to about his partner.

Booth temporarily forgot his plans to talk Kwon into getting distracted when he heard his son's small voice. "Daddy, Bones is bleeding. Her leg... it doesn't look so good."

Brennan intervened to reassure the child, "I'm fine, Parker. Stay absolutely still—just the way that I told you. Hide behind me—stay completely behind me." Booth's heart fell to his gut. Bones had already been shot protecting his kid. _Damn, that woman never ceased to amaze him._

"Parker?" Bones rasped, grasping at air where the boy's hand had once clasped hers tightly.

"It's okay, Bones," Parker said bravely, shrugging out of his button down and bending slightly so that he could wrap it around his father's partner's leg. Trained boy scout that he was, he pulled the half-knot tightly and asked Brennan if she thought it was tight enough.

"Just a little more pressure," Brennan said, wincing slightly as the boy pulled as hard as he could before knotting the shirt in place above her wound.

Just when she'd worried that he'd put himself in danger unnecessarily, Brennan felt Parker's small hand slip bravely back into hers and squeeze it for reassurance.

"Thanks, Parker," she whispered, moved by his already burgeoning alpha-male protective streak. As she swallowed hard to silence her emotions, she gazed up at her partner and saw his determined yet proud expression. She watched him try to feign indifference and wondered how anyone could ever accept Booth's being indifferent about anything. It just wasn't his nature. _God, he has no idea how much I love him..._

Booth spoke intently while trying to pretend he was just passing along information, "Look, I'm not the one who'll need to worry if you hurt Bones... I'm just a grunt agent. I can be replaced... Her boyfriend is the damn Deputy Director of the FBI. You're smart enough to run a gang and to have pulled one over on me and my partner... I can't believe you're stupid enough to want the full wrath of the FBI hunting you down. Hacker will have them all ready to shoot to kill and ask questions later. You won't last a day."

"Stupid government can't do stuff like that... You're just bluffing..."

"You look me in the eye, Kwon and then tell me I'm bluffing...," Booth threatened in a way that had the man gazing at him intently, "I'm not half as powerful as her boyfriend. But if you hurt my son or my partner, and I will kill you so fast you won't even have time to be afraid. I won't think twice about spending the rest of my life in jail. I won't care what happens to me. You hurt either of them—just know that you're dead already. Hacker might be a bad ass executive, but I am a trained sniper who will be bent on vengeance. I will hunt you down until you're dead... That is a promise from me to you."

"He's right," Brennan chimed in, her voice a bit shaky from hearing Booth's rage. "My boyfriend... Andrew... He is the Deputy Director of the FBI. I'm sure that he won't ignore the fact that you release us. He'll pull strings and have the charges reduced... clear your brother's name... Let me call him," she said, releasing Parker's hand to reach for her purse which she'd shoved into the boy's hands as she'd pulled him away from his captor.

"Nobody's calling anybody. Your partner has been scaring my brother... He's been pushing around a sweet, paralyzed kid who never hurt anybody, and I have to make him pay for that. Nobody's calling anybody. The pig hurt my family, and now I'm going to hurt his..."

With those words, Kwon tightened his hold on the trigger to a point that made Booth's knees feel rubbery. Booth could tell that his earlier threat and the mere mention of Kwon's brother had unhinged him a dangerous bit more.

"Hey... easy... Take it easy... There's another way...," Booth said convincingly, drawing the man's full attention. Booth couldn't risk things getting any more dangerous for Bones and Parker. He had to do something drastic to calm Kwon down. "Here... take it... take my weapon... Just let the kid and Bones go. I'm the one who scared your brother. I'm the one who plastered his face all over the news. I'm the one you want. Take me... let them go..."

"Booth!" Brennan snapped in horror, "Don't give up your weapon! We're evenly matched. You and I are both excellent shots. I've already taken one of them down. We'll get out of this. You can't do this... You can't give them the advantage. Don't be selflessly stupid... Parker's right here, Booth. He needs you to keep your weapon."

"Not now, Bones. This is between Kwon and me... Man to man...," turning to Kwon he shrugged as much as the situation would allow, "See what I mean? She's way too fricking bossy..."

"So you want to give up your gun and you want me to let the kid and the girl go," Kwon stated, suspicion dripping from his tone.

"That's it. A good faith gesture. I'm yours, man. Do with me what you will. Just let them go..."

"Booth! At least wait until we're safely out of range or something. Don't...," Brennan began, but her partner was more stubborn and determined than even she was. Without waiting for the man to respond, Booth lowered his weapon and squatting down, taking the man holding the weapon to his head down with him. "See... Man to man... I'm doing my part," he said, placing the gun on the ground and standing back up slowly before kicking the weapon out of his own reach.

"Booth!" Brennan hissed, looking every bit as if she might shoot him herself for doing something so risky and reckless.

As he stood there unarmed and trying to reassure Bones wordlessly, Booth was simultaneously trying to identify potential ways to disarm their captors so that Parker and Bones could escape. He had to remind himself that he had to bury his emotions deep so that he could think clearly and act decisively. There weren't many options and none of them promised a safe outcome for him, but he was focused purely on Parker and Bones and assuring their safety.

As he was assessing the newly adjusted situation carefully, Booth felt his gut clench as he watched a strange expression cross Bones' face. _Holy crap... She's got an idea. She's made a decision... And I'm not gonna like it..._ He recognized that stubborn look of determination on her face. He'd fallen in love with it years ago. But this was too big, too important. He couldn't let Bones do something crazy. Parker was there. He had no gun. Bones couldn't do anything selfless or reckless—not now. He had to stop her and fast.

Knowing that changing her mind would be terribly difficult if not impossible, Booth started talking. If nothing else, he hoped the conversation would distract her and their captors long enough for him to take action on his own. His gut was screaming at him that time was short and that Bones was desperate now that he'd unarmed himself to protect her. He also knew that whatever idea she'd had would terrify him. "Hey, Bones," he began, frustrated when she didn't glance at him. "Bones... look at me..." She glanced up, but he could tell by he set of her jaw and her posture that she was not going to listen. He was wasting his time trying to talk to her. Seeing her look like that, he knew that her mind was already set on a course of action.

"Bones, I'm sure Kwon here will be smart about this... He'll let you and Parker go. He doesn't want Hacker hunting him down and killing him and leaving his brother alone. Right, Kwon? You've got me. You took my weapon. I'm at your mercy. You can hurt me or use me as a way to negotiate your brother's release. Let Bones go back to her boyfriend and let the kid go. No good can come from hurting either of them."

Brennan couldn't believe the ease with which Booth told lies and handed himself over to these cretins. She started to say something, but one look from Booth made her pause.

"Nobody's leaving," Kwon snapped, intent upon doing what he'd come to do.

"Are you stupid?" Booth asked, changing tactics entirely. "You have to let them leave if you want to live. Let them go."

"No."

"Bones, tell him about Hacker again. Tell him how much... how much he loves you. Tell him how bad it would be."

"Mr. Kwon, you should let all of us go. I can prove your brother is innocent. I'm probably the only one who can prove it. I can get him released, and I'll drop the charges against him."

"You can?"

"I can, and I will. I am a truthful person. I will drop the charges and help get him released. But you have to let us go. You can run, hide, or even flee the country. While you escape, I'll exonerate your brother."

"He... he won' t let me escape," Kwon said, appearing to mull the scenario over and deciding that Booth was the biggest obstacle to any getaway.

"Yes, he will. He will because I'll ask Hacker to tell him to. Just let me call him..."

"No. No calls. Nobody leaves. Not til I decide."

Brennan's shoulders slumped. She'd been extremely optimistic that her latest line of illogical reasoning would have convinced the man. Now she realized that he wasn't going to allow any of them to leave.

"Booth, he's not going to let any of us go. He's going to kill us all and be executed for it."

"No, Bones, Mr. Kwon will be reasonable. His brother said he was a reasonable man... that he was smart," Booth tried to do damage control. He didn't like the expression on Kwon's face that seemed to accept that Bones had just summed the situation up accurately. As he watched the man snap his decision into place, he'd never been more afraid as he'd been in that moment. He was losing them. He literally felt it.

As she spoke to him, he shifted his gaze to her, his heart aching as he saw his partner arrive at the same kind of immutable decision. After staring off at the wall of the alley in a strange way, she looked up at him, a different combination of emotions on display in her expression, "Booth, listen to me." She was speaking to him in that clear, convincing teaching voice—the one that relayed absolute truth to others and tried to tell it to them so convincingly that they couldn't misunderstand. "Remember our early case—the Cleo Eller case?"

"Yeah."

"Remember at the fountain... I tried to blackmail you. Remember what you said when I threatened to issue a press release?"

"Yeah. Bones, I don't see..."

"Remember that... that last word you said to me. If things go wrong, remember that..."

_I'll be a dead duck... Duck... she's telling me to duck...,_ he realized, his heart began beating even more emphatically in his chest, "No. Bones. Listen to me. We'll be fine. I don't want you telling me to remember things. We'll both remember the good old days... after this is over... together." He tried to will her to wait and let him do something. Anything would be better than Bones trying to take on two armed men with no help from him.

"No. this is important. Remember it. You'll know when it's the right time."

_God love her. _Bones was trying so hard to be brave and strong and to help him even when he was the trained cop who should have gotten them all to safety by now._ Where the hell were the cops? Hadn't someone running away from the restaurant called 911? _What the hell was he going to do to stop her from doing something crazy?

"Bones, listen..."

"No, Booth. There's not time. There's something else..."

The look on her face sent his blood pressure skyward. She was about to do something—something he couldn't stop. Something dangerous. It was written all over her face. He was surprised that Kwon couldn't see it.

"Bones," he pled with her. He needed her to know how much he needed her to stay safe... and not just because she was protecting his son.

"Booth. Listen to me. There's just one other thing. A very important thing. The most important thing of all."

_Hell, this was Bones telling him goodbye. No, dammit._ He was not going to stand there and let her say goodbye to him. Not now. Not ever. But maybe if he agreed with her and kept her talking, he'd figure out a way to distract Kwon and his thug. That, or he might be able to reason with her. Surely logic would work with her—even as desperate as things appeared to be.

"Okay. Okay, Bones."

But he had been completely unprepared for what she'd said next. "That night at the train station..."

_What the hell?_ He needed to be ready to act, clear headed. So did she... They could not talk about that night—not now. _What the hell?_

"Booth, I lied to you." _Bones doesn't lie. Crap_, this was not a conversation he wanted to have...

"Bones, can't we talk about this later?"

"NO!" she snapped, her patience finally at its limit.

Worried about her and hoping to deflect the attention from her, Booth looked over to Kwon, "See? See what I have to put up with?" he asked. He could see that Bones was aching inside. Any untruth was intolerable to her: the fact that she'd told one to him was crushing her from the inside out.

The look Bones gave him pierced him more completely than any bullet could have. "Booth. I just wanted you to know..." She paused, waiting for the right words to come. Temperance was never at a loss for words. Her silence terrified him.

She began again, determined to tell him. "What's important... what I need to tell you... what you need to know..."

"Jeez, lady... Just tell him already," the man holding Booth hostage finally growled.

She couldn't do it. This was an impossible situation. She'd never loved anyone the way she loved him. She never would again. She knew that deep in her soul. But to say those words—those words she'd never uttered to anyone other than her family. To say those words now—when he might die, when she might die, in front of gang members. She couldn't do it. What she needed to tell her partner was too sacred, too personal.

But suddenly, she found better words—words that would convey her meaning even more clearly without telling Kwon and his goon exactly how they felt about one another.

_'Til my body is dust  
'til my soul is no more  
I will love you, love you  
_

The alley had fallen silent. It was quiet enough that each person could hear the person nearest breathing in and out. Bones was gripping Parker's hand as tightly as she could to be supportive of him. She was looking at her partner where he stood brave and unarmed and terribly worried about her wellbeing. When her words slipped out, everyone had been waiting and listening intently, thinking that this had to be an earth-shattering announcement. Brennan knew that there would be no time afterward. The gang members had been temporarily lulled into listening to her discussion with her partner. Once they were confused by her words, they'd run out of patience and take action. She finally confessed two words that rocketed through Booth instantly.

"I knew."

Nearly forgetting where they were and the danger they were all in, his attention focused solely on her. "What?"

"I knew, too." Booth felt the impact of her confession as his heart hit the floor, stopped beating entirely, and then boomed around wildly in his already constricted chest. Bones was still talking. He strained to listen as his heart beat crazily in his ears. _She knew? Oh, God..._

_'Til the sun starts to cry  
and the moon turns to rust  
I will love you, love you_

"I've known as long as you—maybe even longer. I just... I couldn't understand... I couldn't believe... I couldn't find enough evidence. But I knew. I just realized these last few weeks that I've been deceiving myself... and you. I wanted to tell you... but I was afraid. But I need for you to know now. Booth, I knew. I need to know that you understand what I'm telling you."

"Bones..."

"Tell me. Booth, tell me you know... tell me you understand what I'm saying."

"Bones, you can't..."

"Tell me!"

"Okay... I do. I understand. I... I'm glad you told me. God, I... Thank you, Temperance." 

_And I need to know - will you stay for all  
time... forever and a day  
_

"I'm sorry it took me so long."

Staring at her in a way that almost made her feel that a last-minute confession still held meaning, he spoke softly—as if only the two of them were standing there. He looked stronger somehow knowing that Bones cared for him the way he'd hoped, "I'm not sorry, Bones. I have no regrets."

Blinking back tears that could cost her too dearly, she stared at him for a long moment. Then she realized that their time was running short.

"Booth?"

"Yeah, Bones?" his voice still soft and a bit dreamlike given the news she'd just give him.

"The fountain. Booth, do it now!"

_What? Oh, God. Please no..._

With time again moving in slow motion and every movement visible to him, Booth watched in horror as Bones shot the gang leader and turned to shoot the man holding him. Inhaling as sharply as circumstances would allow, Booth ducked, allowing her to shoot his captor and drop him where he stood.

Kwon had been hit in the shoulder by Brennan's first shot. Holding his hand over the wound, he stood back up and started firing. Dying on the inside, Booth dove to retrieve his weapon, watching as Bones shielded Parker with her body and ran quickly so that she could shove him through the door of the restaurant. Booth hadn't seen the silent conversation Brennan had been having with Sid. The man had stood there ready to help, and she'd convinced him wordlessly to take Parker and shield him from danger-and from seeing what might happen in the alleyway.

Booth watched his partner disappear into the building and relaxed the smallest bit. If he could get to his weapon in time, he could take Kwon out and end this here. But as he dove for his weapon, he saw his partner take the ridiculous risk of running back out into the alley with her weapon ready. _Dammit, Bones, don't come back out here_, his mind screamed as he lurched forward to grasp his gun.

Booth picked up his weapon and rolled over on the ground, taking aim at Kwon and wounding him but not killing him. Finally able to breathe realizing they were close to obtaining control over the situation, he glanced to Bones, but his heart stopped as he watched her suddenly stop moving and then fall backwards to the ground, an enormous red splotch exploding onto her shirt where she'd been shot in the chest by Kwon. Her body landed with a thud and she did not move. She lie there lifeless. 

_Then I'll give my heart 'til the end of all  
time...forever and a day_

"Noooooo!" Booth screamed, hurling his body toward her, heedless of Kwon's aiming his weapon at him again. Booth didn't even feel the bullets entering his body and cutting through it, hitting organ and muscles. He had to get to Bones, shelter her, and make sure that Kwon couldn't hurt her any more. Despite his best effort, his wounded body fell a few feet short of his still lifeless partner. The reality of his injuries starting to dawn on him, Booth rolled from his prone position onto his side and tried to aim his gun awkwardly. Firing his gun one last time to protect his partner from further harm, he sent one final bullet through Kwon's forehead.

After he fired, Booth's empty gun fell to the ground with a clatter. His arm became limp and the edges of his field of vision became dark and blurry. Fighting the pain and the haze, he turned to look at his partner. She still wasn't moving. He tried to move, but his body was too badly wounded and was losing blood too quickly. The strength was draining out of him as rapidly as his heart was breaking realizing that he'd failed to keep her safe. Unable to do anything more, he reached for her hand and clasped it tightly.

He held onto it until he was able to do so no longer. 

_'Til the storms fill my eyes  
and we touch the last time  
I will love you, love you  
I will love you, love you..._

**Lyrics: I Will Love You by Fisher**


	16. Chapter 16

_**[A/N: Your enthusiastic responses to that last chapter were incredible. I never dreamed this entire story would get as many as 50 reviews. Rushing past the 100 mark with that last chapter was terrifically exciting. I remain honored that you're reading and reviewing.**_

_**Thanks ever so much for your patience. I had NOTHING written when I posted that last chapter and tossed away two different versions of this chapter before I settled upon this one. This is coming to you hot of the presses as quickly as I could pull it together—I wasn't stalling. Nothing else is written, but I didn't want to leave you hanging too long. **_

_**I almost didn't add lyrics to this chapter, but Rosie Thomas' version of **__**It Don't Matter to the Sun**__** breezed by on a playlist and fit the mood completely. That song has been performed brilliantly by a number of artists, but I thought Rosie Thomas' version was good for showing Brennan's point of view. **_

_**I feel quite fortunate to have found a beta reader who provided amazing details about the medical situations arising from that shoot out in the alley. Sure saved me tons of Internet research and faking my way through the details of this chapter! Thanks again, Skole! Importantly, Skole made every effort to offer suggestions to save Booth from looking any less sexy when shirtless-have I told you what a genius Skole is?]**_

Chapter 16: It Don't Matter to the Sun

The sound of approaching sirens pulled Brennan awake. Her head was pounding, she was disoriented and nauseated. It took her a few moments to process what had happened and to realize where she was. Once she sensed that she remained in the alley, she immediately sat up, pausing as her vision blurred and her stomach rolled. Her body would have punished her for getting up at all—it was now rebelling intensely because she'd sprung upright so quickly.

Once her nausea had abated slightly, she looked around frantically. As her head and her stomach warned her that they could shut her down completely at any moment, she tried to focus on her surroundings. Slowly she remembered shoving Parker to safety. Her mouth went bone dry as she remembered seeing Booth shoot Kwon. But she remembered nothing else. Booth...

Her heart shuddered when she looked down and saw her partner lying near her with his lifeless hand still wrapped tightly around hers. She hadn't even noticed it because the sensation associated with this man's current touch was so foreign and unfamiliar. Now that she realized that he had been there holding on to her as she lay unconscious, she was distraught that she hadn't sensed his hand there immediately. She shivered realizing how cold and unnatural his skin felt to the touch—Booth's skin contacting hers had always felt so warm and soothing. It had consistently been an extremely pleasant sensation to have him touch her in even the simplest of ways. Now she was horrified by the feel of his strangely cold, rigid hand upon her own.

_It don't matter to the sun_

_If you go or if you stay_

Booth lie on his side but his body had slumped unnaturally and he was bleeding and unconscious. The visual image of his broken body combined with the eerie feel of his cold hand in hers rocked her to her core. She had been confronted with hard physical evidence that she was losing him or she might have lost him already. "Booth!" she tried to scream, but no sound escaped except for a strangled sob. Had she lost him as he mourned her injury suspecting that he'd lost her? Her brain would not accept that he was gone. She needed to find more evidence that his hand was just temporarily cold and lifeless.

Overloaded with pain, she crawled closer to him, heedless of scraping her knees in the clumsy move to her partner's side. Still gripping his hand tightly, she felt for and was unable to find a radial pulse. Quaking with emotions too terrible to unleash, she reached with trembling fingers to search for a pulse at his carotid… She sighed with relief as her tender pressure on his neck revealed a pulse... quite rapid but very faint.

"Booth! Booth, wake up!" she yelled as loudly as her wounded and shocked body would allow. No response. Afraid to do damage but needing to know the extent of his injuries, she lurched to suspend her body over his so that she could examine his back. She saw two gunshot wounds there. Examining him more closely, she could discern that one of the wounds in his back appeared to have a complementary wound on his abdomen. He'd been shot through the back and the larger hole in his abdomen clearly appeared to be the exit wound. Needing to check his side for additional injuries, she rolled him carefully onto his back. She felt sick noting the way that his body flopped lifelessly to the pavement. She felt little consolation finding that he had no other injuries aside from the two major gunshots and a superficial flesh wound on his leg.

Now that she'd moved him and had a clearer view of the wound in his torso, Brennan realized that there was an even larger quantity of blood seeping from his wound. Booth was even more pale and weak than before. Brennan reminded herself that he'd been bleeding internally and that moving him had not likely created any greater problem, but the tiny irrational part of her brain had latched onto the possibility that Booth might now be bleeding quantities of blood like those she'd seen at her apartment when Kirby had been killed and she had thought her brother had been dead. Booth had been there then to hug her and reassure her that night. She felt like panicking thinking that Booth might face that same awful fate. 

_No, the sun is gonna rise, gonna rise  
Shine down on another day_

Brennan refocused, determined to care for her partner the best she could. Certainly Sid had called for help. She just needed to keep her partner alive. She reminded herself that she'd likely just dislodged a clot or that the blood now oozing from her partner had already been pooled in his abdomen.

As distraught and emotional as she was scrutinizing her partner's potentially life-threatening wounds, Brennan had been struck with memories of that earlier conversation with her partner when he'd been generating enough heat for both of their bodies instead of barely enough to keep his own functioning.

"_Look, Bones. You and Michelle have no business discussing my social life... or my abdominal... my abdomen..."_

She sighed internally examining his wounded abdomen and remembering how her previous thoughts about his well-defined abdomen had turned instantly to stronger yearning. She recalled clearly how she'd struggled not to identify with Booth simply as a man. Being confronted with his body so near had made the fact that he was a beautiful, vital man nearly impossible to ignore. His words now ran through her, reminding her how very much time she'd wasted with what now seemed like inconsequential concerns, _"... you haven't ever made love the way that we'd make love, Temperance. I would consume you, take more from you than you'd ever offer anyone and give you more of myself than you could handle. I also know that, if you and I were to take that step, the sex would be so mind-blowing and life-altering that you'd be the one asking me for a relationship—not the other way around."_

In this hauntingly late moment, she really would have begged him—not for sex but for the relationship. She'd have done anything to remove any barrier that had ever kept them apart. The cruelty of the realization that she might be too horribly late had been crushing. Determined yet terrified, she realized that she simply had to stop the bleeding.

Lacking anything resembling a sterile dressing or a first aid kit, Brennan ripped off her own shirt and bunched it up, careful to make sure that the buttons weren't pressing against his cold, clammy skin as she applied pressure to the wound. In no time at all, the blouse had turned red as it absorbed her partner's blood. She pressed harder, willing the flow of her partner's life blood to stop or to slow.

"Booth, don't leave me. You promised. You promised!" she cried to him as she applied pressure to the wound she feared would kill him.

Brennan had been focused solely on her partner when the paramedics arrived. They literally had to pry her off of him to begin examining him. Once she'd been moved aside, she sat there silently holding his hand. As she watched them examine her partner, put him on oxygen, and begin to take his vital signs and dress his wounds, all she could feel was cold and dead inside. She'd started this. She'd fired the shots. She'd run back into the alley. He'd probably been distracted by her return. Booth hadn't been wounded in battle. He'd been shot in the back running to defend her from harm. She might as well have unloaded her weapon into him and killed him herself. Her personal guilt over that circumstance knew no bounds.

Brennan steadfastly ignored one paramedic's attempts to examine her wounds. She refused treatment; demanding instead that they focus all of their attention on her badly wounded partner. She even ignored Rebecca's frantic thanks as she rushed out and offered to drive her to the hospital as the paramedics began working to place Booth on the gurney for transport. She glanced up with eyes that didn't even focus on the people around her, but she did manage one rational thought. When she realized that Rebecca was holding her purse that Parker had kept for her, she grabbed it and made one call.

Shaking as she stared endlessly at her partner, Brennan dialed the FBI's emergency line and reported that Booth had been badly injured and that Kwon was dead. She asked them to send a forensics team to the alley beside Wong Foo's. As she ended the call, the shaking that had begun ripping through her intensified. She handed her phone to Rebecca and walked over to grasp Booth's hand again. Once she'd made physical contact with him again, the trembling had subsided. Calmer at least on the outside, Brennan requested that Rebecca call Cam and ask her to go to the hospital. Then she climbed into the ambulance without asking for or even considering the fact that she might need permission to do so. The last thing Rebecca saw as the doors closed was Brennan taking Booth's hand in both of hers and whispering something meant only for his ears.

T R A N S L A T I O N . . . T R A N S L A T I O N . . . T R A N S L A T I O N . . . T R A N S L A T I O N . . .

Only by pumping Booth full of IV fluids were the emergency medical technicians able to keep Booth's heart from arresting from the traumatic effects of his internal injuries. Brennan moved farther away from him only when absolutely necessary to allow them to treat him. Eventually, she positioned herself so that she could use the pump the EMT's had handed to her to help circulate the life-sustaining fluids through her partner. They'd sensed how much she'd needed to do something tangible to help, and they'd had been busy doing as many things as they could to keep this man alive and give him a chance to recover.

With every pump of the implement in her still shaky hands, Brennan whispered words of support and encouragement to Booth. Translating her feelings and her need for him into actions to pump fluids and hope and love into her partner, Brennan focused enough at some random moment during the ambulance ride to inform the technicians that Booth had not reacted well to the anesthesia used during his brain surgery and ask them to make sure it wasn't used again this time.

The entire ride was a blur, and Brennan remembered little of it except for trying to will her partner to survive.

T R A N S L A T I O N . . . T R A N S L A T I O N . . . T R A N S L A T I O N . . . T R A N S L A T I O N . . .

When they disembarked the ambulance and the team rushed Booth through the emergency room for surgery, Brennan finally was left with nothing to keep her busy. The stillness and her sudden purposeless were overwhelming. Shocked and worried, she stared down at her hands, noticing for the first time that they were covered in a frightening blend of Booth's blood and her own. How cruel that their bodies had been merged together so intimately—at such a cellular level-only when he'd been injured in a way that might take him from her forever.

Seeing the stark contrast of the blood on her fair skin made the reality of Booth's injuries even more devastating. It was too much. He'd bled too much. The trip had taken too long. She was too frightened to breathe remembering that the EMTs had needed to help her partner breathe by the time they'd arrived at the hospital. She found herself now having trouble drawing in sufficient air knowing that he no longer could do so on his own.

_There will be tomorrow  
Even if you choose to leave_

By the time Cam ran into the emergency room to look for Booth, a frantic Brennan had been yelling at the nurse who had been trying to examine her. Nearly hysterical, Brennan explained Booth's injuries in great detail to Cam even as she fought against the nurse's efforts to help her.

Realizing that Brennan was traumatized, she spoke clearly to her in a way that she hoped would break through her hysteria. "May I?" Cam asked indicating that she'd like to examine the doctor's wounds. Brennan nodded-a sincere show of trust in her colleague. Cam had scrutinized the wounds quickly and discussed her observations with the hesitant patient. "Dr. Brennan, can you describe the extent of your own injuries for the nurse? She'll be required to report them since you entered the hospital wounded." Reason overriding her distress, Brennan nodded and then explained that she'd been wounded in her thigh and that she had a superficial chest wound. The nurse relaxed a bit realizing that this woman seemed capable of deciding that her situation wasn't critical. But just as Brennan finished giving her the science of her injuries, her voice dropped and continued at a stilted pace, "But none of that matters. Only he matters. Only Booth matters."

'_Cause it don't matter to the sun, no, no_

_It matters to me._

Cam's heart clenched as she remembered the trial when Brennan had used similar words. That had been difficult enough to hear. Her anthropologist's confession about her partner was gut-wrenching.

Without warning the events of the evening finally overcame Brennan. She collapsed into a chair and sobbed quietly but ceaselessly-even when Cam pulled her into an awkwardly supportive embrace. Under any other circumstances, the personal contact would have made both women uncomfortable, but this night, such artificial distances seemed as useless as either of them felt incapable of saving Booth. Temperance felt cold and empty and nauseated, and she understood clearly that her injuries were not the cause of her symptoms. Her carefully hidden heart had been exposed and made vulnerable by the events in the alley, and the damage it was suffering had dealt her a physical blow.

With painstaking care and persuasion, Cam had been able to convince the doctors to examine Dr. Brennan in a location in which it would be impossible for her to miss updates on Booth's condition. When they determined that they needed to remove the bullet from her thigh, Brennan stubbornly demanded that they use only local anesthetic. Once they had informed her that the bullet had been lodged superficially in the gastrocnemius muscle on her outer thigh, Brennan had informed them in a clipped tone that there were no major blood vessels there and that sedation would be unnecessary and that she would not consent to have them do so. She categorically refused to be sedated while Booth's survival was in question. Brennan's chest wound had also been superficial and required only carefully cleaning and bandaging. Cam asked the nurse to take extra care to clean Brennan up as much as possible during the procedure—she knew that Brennan wasn't going to take a shower or do anything else except hold vigil over Booth until his surgery was over. 

_It ain't gonna stop the world  
If you walk out that door  
_

Angela arrived and was terrified of the condition in which she found her best friend. This had been Bren at her breaking point-something she thought no one would ever see. Her friend was eerily composed but obviously fragile as she sat in the bed in the emergency room.

Brennan had been holding herself together well until Mick and a crowd of FBI agents and ATF agents and federal marshals Charlie had rounded up showed up offering to donate their blood to her partner. Apparently Booth had done the same for them in the past and had started the bureau's ad hoc system for putting the word out when an agent with a rare blood type had been injured and might need a transfusion. Imagining all of those people sacrificing small pieces of themselves for her partner had been very touching. Imagining her partner sacrificing pieces of himself to help others didn't surprise her at all yet it managed to knock a few chinks in the armor that was barely holding her together. Another chunk of metaphorical metal had been driven away when Brennan looked up and discerned from the look on Angela's face that she had been remembering the same event.

_About two years before, the Jeffersonian had held a competition to encourage staff to donate blood to help with a local area shortage. As competitive amongst themselves as each of them had been individually, the staff at the lab and the museum and the other departments dove in and began a healthy contest to see which part of the organization might bring in the most donations. The lab had a smaller staff than the other departments, but that didn't keep them from remaining competitive. One day near the end of the competition, Booth had stopped by just as Brennan and Angela had finished making their donations to the cause._

"_Oh, Booth's here! Booth, you're a member of our team. Go check in with the nurse so that you can donate blood. We're only a few pints short of a tie with the Portrait Gallery. We need you. You're part of the team. We need you to donate so that we can win one for the Gripper."_

"_Bones, stop trying to make sports references. They're some of your worst. It's Gipper. And, no thanks. Can't donate today."_

_Brennan squinted at him in frustration, "Are you ill? Do we have a case? I could drive us to the scene after you donate."_

_Booth shook his head and explained, "Nope. I just came by to help prep you for the Holston trial."_

"_Well, I'll answer your questions while you donate blood," the anthropologist insisted._

_Angela interrupted, "Bren, sweetie. I think our big strapping FBI agent might be trying to beg off. You know how some big, strong guys get queasy and faint when giving blood."_

"_That's ridiculous, Angela. Booth is surrounded by blood at our crime scenes and he never seemed faint or weak when I've seen him bleeding. Tell her, Booth. Tell her you're not one of those guys," Brennan insisted as she tried to defend her partner._

"_Not one of those guys," Booth insisted as he snagged a stack of cookies from the platter available to patients, "Hey, Bones. Grab a cookie and come to your office. I'll be there looking over the file."_

_At just that moment, Hodgins walked by and slowed Booth's progress, "Hey, Booth! Have you made your donation yet? Man, I can't believe we didn't snag you sooner. After you, we'll only be two pints behind!"_

"_Sorry, Hodgins. Not donating," Booth said as he shoved a cookie into his mouth and moved to leave._

"_Whoa... Why? We need this, man. Those twerps at the Portrait Gallery have been dogging us all week."_

"_Angela seems to think that Booth's afraid to donate blood," Brennan suggested still not believing her hypothesis._

"_I am not afraid, and I don't have to explain how brave I am to a bunch of squints. Holston, Bones. I'm not leaving until we review the file. Chop. Chop." And with that, the annoyed FBI agent left the lab staff shrugging their shoulders and eating cookies while pondering why he might be avoiding their blood drive._

_Brennan had waited the requisite amount of time after donating blood. She had decided that five minutes short of the allotted time had been requisite for her, so she snuck out early. Still chewing the last of the cookie she'd eaten on the way to her office, she had entered her office and taken a seat on the couch next to Booth. She hadn't sat too close to him, but she hadn't sat far away, either. As it had so many times, a ripple of tension flashed between them and waited for them to act upon it or drown it with conversation intended to snuff out its flames._

_Avoiding the sparks as much out of habit as necessity, Booth had charged right into the case file, badgering his partner for details and ensuring that she wasn't giving answers that were purely scientific. Finally content that they were prepared for the trial the next day, Booth had congratulated her and commented on how much improved her testimony had been of late. Basking in his praise, Brennan had flashed him a brilliant smile of gratitude._

"_Better not let that go to your head, Bones," Booth teased when he saw her smiling at him. Yet he had smiled at her happily in return._

"_It pleases me when you are impressed with my abilities," she confessed boldly._

"_You are often impressive, Bones."_

"_Thank you. As are you. That's why I'm puzzled about your unwillingness to give blood. You've explained your irrational fear of clowns. I'd like to hear why you're afraid to give blood."_

"_Bones, don't start that again," Booth deflected, but she'd placed a hand on his thigh to hold him in place when he started to get up from the sofa. Even a platonic touch from Bones on his lower body had been enough to freeze the agent in place._

"_Are you... Are you one of those big, strong, strapping men afraid to give blood? Are you like Samson... do you think that donating your blood will make you less strong... less virile?" She dared him with the look in her eyes to protest. He had almost been too dazed by her touch and her words to try to fight back. Almost._

"_You don't know everything about me, Bones," he'd said in a voice that revealed more than his words. He's been unable to resist being affected by her flirting._

"_But we're partners," she half-whispered, half-whined. "Tell me."_

_Booth had seldom denied her anything she'd asked of him, but that time had been an exception. "Partners don't share everything, Bones," he had admitted, hating the fact that, in their case, it was still true._

"_Booth, you're not really afraid, are you? There's no rational reason to fear losing some of your blood..."_

"_I'm not being rational or irrational. I'm just not donating. Case closed," Booth said. "Partners have to respect each other's boundaries. You're stepping on one, Bones."_

_She'd nodded and finally accepted his terms but had watched as the others in the lab had hounded Booth for days and teased him mercilessly about wimping out and making them lose the contest. _

Booth had deflected their teasing and never even hinted that he'd just donated the week before to help a wounded agent and that he couldn't donate to help their cause. Why he'd hidden that noble gesture from them, Brennan didn't know. But that was just one more piece of evidence that she could rely upon and trust the very good man she'd only called her partner.

_**This old world just keeps spinning round, spinning round  
Like it did the day before**_

Angela watched the memory wash over her friend and held her hand as silent tears fell down her troubled face. She felt it too, but she could tell that Bren had been aching still learning things—very good things—about the man lying in that operating room fighting to stay alive. He was such a good man. He and Brennan… God, it just wasn't right that they be pulled apart before they had a chance to be honest with each other. They were too magical, too perfectly suited for one another, too much the center of one another's worlds. The artist sat trying to console her grieving friend, knowing that what she needed most remained impossible. What Bren needed was for Booth to rush through those doors and ask her what was wrong before crushing her in a hug only he could provide.

Angela sighed and hugged her friend tightly. Booth would survive this. She didn't understand the snatches of medical information they'd received about how he was doing, but she knew one thing was true: Booth would fight like hell to make it back to Brennan.

**Lyrics from It Don't Matter to the Sun performed beautifully by Rosie Thomas**


	17. Chapter 17

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_**[A/N: I hit a wall of sorts once we arrived at all of these medical issues. Skole provided an abundance of amazing information about medical stuff and surgery and medications I didn't even begin to leverage the way I could have (but boy did I learn a great deal), and my dear e-pal Kimmy also provided some very helpful insight used in the next few chapters, too. I am grateful for their help.**_

_**I remain honored that you're reading and thrilled that so many of you are following this or commenting. I almost hate to do this, but because you've all been so generous and supportive, I feel it's only fair to warn you that this tale of ours is winding down quickly. Don't worry—you'll know more about what happens after this than you can probably bear reading. Even so, I'm feeling the need to wrap this up where I had originally intended.]**_

Chapter 17: Some Wounds Take Time to Heal

After the doctors had removed the bullet from her thigh, they had informed Dr. Brennan that they would be admitting her overnight for observation intending to administer high-dose antibiotics and IV fluids. However, that wasn't the primary reason they were admitting her. The worried doctor had been extremely uncooperative. She appeared to have only a mild concussion, but her dramatic behavior had concerned her physicians. Those who knew her would have realized that her behavior was appropriate for her in this situation, but normal behavior for the forensic anthropologist was at best disturbing to others; her actions in distress had caused great alarm to her physicians.

Adamant that the nurses update her hourly on Booth's condition, Brennan had finally taken a step that eased the tension of relations with the harried hospital staff. After initially refusing to sign the admissions paperwork, she eventually agreed to do so only if she were allowed to pay for a private room she could use temporarily and to which Booth could be moved once he was out of intensive care. As Brennan again signed waivers and agreed to pay for any costs for the room above and beyond what Booth's insurance would cover, she flashed back to the rushed conversations she'd had with Booth's doctors when they'd taken the time to brief her on his condition.

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"What... How is he? How bad is it?" Brennan had asked as the resident had pulled Cam and her into a conference room to discuss Booth's case. "There's significant bleeding. They're doing a spiral CT with contrast now to determine the scope of the damage to his right kidney."

"His kidney...," Brennan murmured, aching with the knowledge that any organ damage would be serious.

"Even a small nick to a kidney could cause the blood loss Agent Booth's suffered—right Doctor?" Cam asked to ease Brennan's concerns. He nodded.

"Dr. Brennan and Dr. Saroyan, I'd like to administer a new drug to Mr. Booth to stop the bleeding while we determine the best course of treatment."

"Agent... it's Agent Booth. He's an FBI special agent… He's my partner," Brennan corrected.

"I see... And you have Agent Booth's medical power of attorney?"

"Yes, I do. What drug? I'd like to research it."

"We need a decision now, Dr. Brennan. The drug is an artificial blood factor. I'll have my staff bring you materials about it." Brennan looked to Cam, and she nodded to show that she agreed they could trust the doctor.

"It's necessary?"

"It buys us more time to diagnose and treat his injuries."

"Then why haven't you administered it already?"Cam asked before Brennan could voice the question.

"I hope this doesn't appear crass or insensitive, but it's quite expensive. Mr… Agent Booth's insurance doesn't cover it."

"I can write you a personal check," Brennan said, turning to look for her purse.

"I understand your desire to help, Dr. Brennan, but the costs are in the thousands… perhaps tens of thousands..."

"I'll cover it. Whatever the cost. Whatever he needs." Cam nodded to reassure him that cost was not an issue.

Rushing out to have the nurses bring in the requisite paperwork, Dr. Carson replied quickly, "We'll administer the drug, locate the bullets, and move him into surgery."

An hour later, Dr. Carson had returned to inform them that the drug appeared to be working but that they'd perform an angiogram if needed to stop the bleeding. He also informed them that Booth's kidney had been nicked and—if they were able to repair the damage—he would not require a nephrectomy (removal of the kidney). The other bullet had been lodged deep in a muscle—but it hadn't penetrated deeply enough to reach Booth's organs. Dr. Carson informed them that he planned to perform a keyhole surgery in order to minimize Booth's recovery time but that they'd be more invasive if required to repair the damage and remove the bullet.

Reassuring the doctors that money was no object the way she had when she'd asked for the private room, Brennan had signed the paperwork, personally covering the cost of whatever measures they deemed necessary to keep her partner alive and give him the best care possible.

Only after they'd placed her in the first room closest to intensive care with the promise that they'd move Booth to that room as soon as he was stable enough did the scientist consent to treatment with antibiotics and minimal pain medication.

In the wee hours of the morning after a nurse came down to tell them that Booth was finally out of surgery and that he was being moved to intensive care, Brennan had finally relaxed enough to allow herself to yawn. Encouraged that she was calming down enough to give in to the need to rest, Angela demanded that she sleep until they came in with more news about Booth. It would take time for them to process him to the ICU after surgery. Desperate for her friend to keep her strength up, Angela appealed to reason and insisted that this was Bren's best opportunity to get some rest so that her own body could heal.

As she dozed off, Brennan was struck by the realization that regular life must have continued to go on for others outside the hospital. Even though she felt as if the metaphorical world had been cast off its axis, she realized that those outside the small circle of their world had no reason to despair. She almost hated living in a world in which Booth's life hanging in the balance didn't cause everyone—absolutely everyone—to stop and recognize what his loss would mean for his family, for his friends, for his country…. She winced as she stopped her internal deliberations just short of noting that losing him would be a horrific loss for her. That loss was so incomprehensible and frightening that she couldn't even pretend to add it to the list.

_'Cause to them it makes no difference_  
_It just keeps on keeping time_

What Temperance saw when the nurse rolled her chair into Booth's room in ICU was even more disturbing than she'd expected. Booth looked very pale and weak and morbidly still—a ghost of the man she knew and loved. Booth was never still—even if only his knee were bouncing nervously or if he were flipping his poker chip between his fingers, he was in constant motion. Seeing him as still as the bodies she examined daily was unnerving. He looked like an exhibit in a museum—not her best friend, her partner, the man she loved watching in constant motion. She'd anticipated that he would be connected to monitors and equipment necessary for his breathing and nourishment. But what had bothered Brennan the most aside from his appearance was the fact that he'd been physically restrained.

Immediately, she confronted the nurse and demanded to have Booth released from the restraints. She knew that all patients who were intubated and on ventilators were restrained to prevent problems when they regained consciousness, but she couldn't bear the sight of Booth bound to that bed with machines breathing for him. Booth didn't like taking help from anyone—seeing machines breathing for him was hard to bear.

With concern in her expression, the nurse shook her head sadly and motioned for Brennan to move farther away and to lower her voice. She explained what Brennan already knew—that the restraints were required until he regained consciousness and could be taken off the ventilator. Seeing the woman's obvious distress, the nurse reassured her that he wasn't completely immobilized and added that a man of Booth's size might re-injure himself if he were unrestrained and moved too dramatically too quickly after surgery. Unbidden tears filling her weary eyes, Brennan nodded and rolled her chair back to Booth's bedside. The nurse walked to the other side of the bed and waited for Brennan to rip her gaze from Booth's waxen face. "He won't remember anything that happens here. This part will be harder for you than it will be for him."

Dr. Carson had informed her that Booth would be kept sedated and very still and quiet for at least a full day after his surgery—maybe two. They'd sedated him right after the move to the ICU. Brennan's eyes flickered constantly to the monitors, checking his blood pressure which the staff had assured her needed to be kept under tight control. The ventilator worked noisily to rush oxygen into Booth's lungs and to pump the carbon dioxide out of them. Until that very moment, Brennan had never understood the stories about how families had difficulty turning off a patient's life support. Such decisions were obviously rational choices made when presented with limited options. Life supported wholly by medical equipment for an unconscious patient wasn't life at all—not a life with any anthropological significance. As a consequence, she'd always assumed that a decision to end a life in which the patient would not be active or alert or contribute to society or family life in any way would be a rather simple choice to make. But as she sat there listening to the click and whoosh of the ventilator keeping her partner breathing, she had a much greater appreciation for the emotion that she suspected had to accompany the rational decision to turn off a patient's life support. It struck her that rationally understanding that a life run fully by machinery should not be continued might not be adequate to comfort the person left to remember the loss as well as to shoulder the responsibility for ending the loved one's life.

Realizations such as this were the types of stories she rushed to tell her partner. Knowing that he had inspired this revelation and that she could not share it with him was crushing. As she watched her partner's pale chest rise and fall mechanically, tears fell down her cheek. She felt helpless, worried, powerless, immobilized. Her breathing moved to sync up with the ventilator. Was she that desperate to connect with him on any level? While she didn't actually require the ventilator to breathe, she found breathing along with her partner to be comforting even though he was hardly a factor in the physiology of the experience.

Bombarded by fear and emotion, Brennan closed her eyes and said a silent prayer to the God to whom she knew her partner would have been praying to had he been able. "Heal him. He's a good man. He believes in you. He's not finished here yet. People here need him. I need him."

_'Cause it ain't gonna stop the world no_  
_But it'll be the end of mine_

For the next thirty-six hours, Brennan refused to leave Booth's bedside except to give the doctors and nurses room to examine him. Sometime the late on the second day, she'd been near dozing when she'd heard the beep of his heart monitor increase. Ever watchful over his blood pressure, she woke and glanced to the machine. But before she could register his blood pressure, she realized that he was waking up. He had to be frightened. He couldn't see her where she was sitting, he was connected to tubes and machines and in an unfamiliar setting, and he might think that he'd been left alone. Bracing on the bedrail and the chair and standing as quickly as she was able while fighting the pain of her injury, Brennan shuffled down closer to the head of his bed and peered at him carefully.

As he had the last time he'd had surgery, Booth had appeared to try to mumble as he awoke. Only this time, he was disturbed by the breathing tube blocking his airway. She watched his body tense and the monitors whine more loudly as he regained consciousness. He woke, his eyes flying open and blinking rapidly, a look of fear on his face.

"Booth... Booth... Look at me," she insisted.

He was still fairly well sedated, but he was obviously trying to move and starting to fight the intubation. "Booth, you're in intensive care. You've had surgery. We're all okay. Parker's okay. There's a tube down your throat to help you breathe. I've called for the nurse. They'll take it out. But you have to relax. Don't hurt yourself. It's okay. You're going to be okay."

His worried brown eyes finally fixed upon her teary-blue ones. When she gripped his hand tightly, he calmed down just a bit. The medical team rushed into the room pleased to see that Booth was waking up. One of the nurses helped Brennan into her chair and rolled her out of the room so that they'd have room to help her partner. Letting go of Booth's hand had been terribly difficult, but she wanted to do whatever she could to help him. When she'd let go of him, he'd become confused and upset and fought against the team. It had broken her heart to realize that he might have thought she was deserting him when he needed her. The nurse had come out to tell her that they'd had to sedate him again for the short-term because he was too disoriented and confused to listen to their directions, but they'd gone ahead and removed the tube and replaced it with oxygen since he'd proven that he was strong and stable enough to breathe on his own.

While they worked on Booth, Brennan rolled her chair down to her room and slipped inside. She'd still been sitting there crying when Angela and Cam had come in to check on her.

"He's waking up. He's going to be okay," Brennan said with a shaky voice through her tears. The two women exchanged a look of understanding before returning their eyes to their weary colleague, "I'm sorry. I must be tired," she tried to make excuses for the raw emotion overpowering her. Seeing the fear on Booth's face after so many hours of hoping desperately that she'd see his beautiful brown eyes again had just been more than the exhausted woman could bear. Nodding to Angela that she was leaving to give them privacy, Cam slipped from the room.

"Bren, honey, you're exhausted. You're going to sleep until Booth wakes up. We'll come get you when he does, but you are in no shape to greet Mr. Sexy when he wakes up asking for you."

"I'm fine, Ang... I'm fine," she lied as she tried again and failed to hide her emotions.

"Shut up and let me help you into this bed or I will call them to sedate you," Angela insisted. She was pretty damn exhausted, too. She'd given up on trying to keep vigil with Brennan once Booth had been moved to ICU—they wouldn't let her in there anyway. She'd tried sleeping in Brennan's hospital bed, but hadn't been able to rest. She'd left Bren a note and gone home to crash after calling everyone—Rebecca, Cam, Bren's dad—to tell them that Booth was out of surgery and that Brennan was fine but stubbornly refusing to rest. Then she'd crashed for hours in Jack's arms.

She couldn't imagine how exhausted Bren was—she'd been up another 36 hours sitting by Booth's bedside.

"I have to be there. What if he wakes up alone?" Brennan asked even as she allowed Angela to help her into the bed.

"Cam will sit with him. Or I will. We won't leave him alone, Bren. But you are wiped out, sweetie. You have to rest. You can't collapse on him when he wakes up."

"Promise you'll wake me up."

"I promise."

"Now get some rest, sweetie."

T R A N S L A T I O N . . . T R A N S L A T I O N . . . T R A N S L A T I O N . . . T R A N S L A T I O N . . .

Two hours later, Cam had been sitting there when Booth had woken again. She'd stood quickly to make certain that he could see her so that she could reassure him, "Seeley, you're in intensive care. You had surgery. You're fine. Dr. Brennan is fine. Parker is fine."

She watched as Booth's vital signs registered his concern and his confusion. He tried to talk. "Your throat is going to be sore, Seeley. You were on a ventilator for a few days."

"Bones," he croaked, not recognizing his own voice.

"She's sleeping. She sat here for days, Seeley. I'll go get her if you want."

Booth shook his head slightly, indicating that she should let his partner rest.

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

He quirked an eyebrow at her instead of shrugging or talking. He didn't have the energy or stamina to do either. "Like you were shot, cut open, and put on life support?" Cam joked. The corners of his mouth turned up slightly but he couldn't quite manage a smile. His eyes still reflected his worry and disorientation.

"We missed you, big guy. I'm so glad you made it," Cam confessed, tears rushing her unexpectedly.

He squeezed her hand and wondered how much actually moving anything else was going to hurt.

They sat there quietly for a few moments until the doctor and nurses showed up to examine him. Cam rose slowly and smiled back at her former lover before leaving the room. She watched for a few moments as the doctors examined Booth before turning to make her way down the hallway to let Angela know that Booth was awake.

T R A N S L A T I O N . . . T R A N S L A T I O N . . . T R A N S L A T I O N . . . T R A N S L A T I O N . . .

When Brennan woke a few hours later, she was furious with Angela for letting her sleep. She grumbled as she slipped into the chair and insisted upon wheeling herself down the hallway. As she arrived at the doorway to Booth's room, she was overcome with emotion. He was sleeping again but he was now clean-shaven and his coloring had started to return. He was far too still for her to be comfortable seeing him that way, but he looked much more like her partner than he had even hours before.

She felt guilty for not being there—for missing out on his waking up. Rationally, she knew that she'd needed sleep, but that didn't ease her conscience about not being there to welcome her partner back to the land of the living.

She hadn't been there when Booth had been murmuring her name and asking for her earlier. When he'd said "Bones" his medical team had thought he was complaining that his bones were causing him pain and discomfort. They had chalked up the fact that he kept repeating the word to mean that he was in substantial pain and had given him more pain medication once they were convinced that he was on the road to recovery. As the medication had fogged everything over and she'd felt the need to reassure those worried brown eyes, the nurse had told him that Dr. Brennan would be very happy to see him alert and awake and that she'd been there at his bedside constantly, but none of them had realized that he'd been asking for her while they ran tests and cleaned him up.

Brennan had been so convinced that she was going to lose him that she now almost felt afraid to touch him. Her heart in her throat, she reached out and stroked the back of his right hand tenderly as she watched over him. She sat there for hours refusing food, drink, and rest. She would not be moved from his bedside. A few times during the night, the sedatives had worn off slightly. At those times, she'd been heartbroken to hear Booth moaning in his sleep. She could tell from the sound that his pain was not physical—the meds were keeping that pain under control. The sounds he was making were a response to his emotional turmoil. She couldn't comprehend most of what he was saying, but it wasn't difficult for her to speculate what he was dreaming about. He mumbled, "She's not my girl" more than once. She ached with the knowledge that he was reliving that scene and his attempt to focus on her with another man in order to save her—even though she had known that even that false conversation had cost him dearly. Other times, he spoke more loudly, "No, Bones! Don't!" After the second such outburst, Brennan broke down and cried again.

Booth settled back into a fitful sleep and left her there still waiting for him to wake up and be a recovering version of himself. The agony of waiting was killing her. Part of her wanted to wake him up and demand that he talk to her, but she knew that he needed time to rest.

The following morning after she had finally taken a shower—only when Angela had threatened to hose her off if she didn't, Brennan walked slowly and painfully down the hall to the ICU. Her heart stopped when she found the room Booth had been in empty. Leaning against the doorframe for support, she asked the first nurse she saw about Booth, fearing that the woman would tell her that he'd died during her absence.

"They're running some tests and moving him to a private room. No worries," the nurse had said encouragingly before walking away as if those words had not been life saving for the woman who'd heard them. A shaky Brennan returned to the room and waited.

T R A N S L A T I O N . . . T R A N S L A T I O N . . . T R A N S L A T I O N . . . T R A N S L A T I O N . . .

As he slowly regained consciousness, Booth's instincts awoke one by one. He felt the adequate bedding beneath him, he smelled the clinical chemical odors of a medical facility, and he heard the whirs, beeps, and other sounds of the machines monitoring his vital signs. Slowly coming out from under the fog of pain medications, he tensed. Seeley Booth wasn't truly afraid of many things, but at that moment, he was terrified. The events leading up to his hospitalization rushed back at him with brute force, leaving him afraid to open his eyes and face reality. What if she was gone? What if he had lost her? Would he have to live the rest of his life regretting rushing into that alley and letting them disarm him? Parker was safe—that much he remembered, but Bones…. He ached with the memory of her falling after the bullet hit her chest, blood staining her shirt before she fell to the ground lifeless. He really didn't want to know what a world without Bones would be like. He couldn't imagine trying to move on without her.

Across the room, a contemplative Brennan had sat dozing lightly while she waited for him to wake up. Slowly he remembered Cam telling him that her injuries had been less severe. The bullet in her leg had required simple surgery to extract it, and her bone had not been shattered by it. The wound in her chest had been superficial. It had been the impact of the blast and the mild concussion she'd suffered when her head had hit the hard surface of the alley that had rendered her temporarily unconscious.

As she'd waited desperately for him to return to her, Brennan had also had ample time to question her actions and ponder her next move. She had no way to guess what Booth might do when he woke up. Would he be angry with her for waiting until a life or death situation to confess that she'd had feelings for him? She'd been a coward. He'd be disappointed in her. Would the violence they'd all suffered because of their closeness cause him to re-draw the line that had held them apart for so long? Or worse, would he expect too much from her, demand she do and say things that she wasn't ready for? Would it be too late—had they missed their second chance, too? Her life never went smoothly. She was unprepared for the possibility that it might now.

She'd sent Sweets away when he visited and tried to talk to her. She'd known that Angela and Cam had talked to him about her obsessive vigilance over Booth, but she didn't care. She was not going to talk to Sweets about this. This was none of his business. She knew it was irrational, but part of her wanted to pin this whole horrible scenario on the young psychologist. If he hadn't pressed Booth to push her into a relationship too soon, this whole situation might not have unfolded the way that it had. Fortunately, she'd frightened the man into staying away. She had known that Booth wouldn't have wanted him there, either.

The increase in Booth's heart rate pulled her out of her fitful dreams. She rose slowly and made her way to the bed, slipping her hand into his, needing to comfort him even if it might be the last time.

The warmth of her hand in his was pure torture. Was this a dream? Was he dead? Was she alive but had nothing changed? Had he dreamt the words she'd said to him?

Squeezing her hand, he slowly opened his eyes, blinking back tears when he saw her worried face hovering above him.

"Booth...," she whispered, emotion choking off her words temporarily, "You're okay. You're in the hospital. You had surgery."

He searched her eyes for some sign, some clue. Instead, he saw only her fear. He glanced away from her crestfallen.

"Booth, are you okay? Do you remember me?"

"I remember you, Bones," he whispered. His voice remained raw and hoarse from being intubated after his surgery.

"Good," she whispered, her relief evident. "You'll be fine. You'll experience substantial pain and a minimum recovery time. But there's no permanent damage." He knew that she might be hiding behind science to mask either relief that he was awake or deeper emotions, so he tried to help, "Thanks, Bones," he said softly, but he found that he couldn't make himself meet her gaze even though he felt her staring at him.

Brennan panicked. Booth wouldn't look at her. He always looked at her. Knowing him the way she did, she'd expected him to raise the issue of their conversation in the alley the first moment he'd woken. But he hadn't. She took his aversion to looking at her as a sign of pain and discomfort that meant she'd been too late—that he'd changed his mind about thinking they should take a chance together and couldn't face telling her that she'd been too late.

Never one to avoid confrontation even if she wouldn't reveal the true source of it, she leaned closer and whispered to him, "Booth, look at me. Why won't you look at me?" she asked him desperately.

He glanced at her and then looked away.

"Booth, it's okay. You're my partner. Whatever is wrong, we'll face it together. Don't shut me out. I… I'm just so glad you're okay. I thought I'd lost you…," she confessed as tears choked off her words.

Partner. She'd called him her partner. He didn't need a translator to tell him what that meant. His suspicions had been confirmed. He'd dreamt that anything more had happened. His brain appeared to get a major kick out of making his wildest dreams seem real when he was anesthetized. He ached with the knowledge that he'd dreamt up yet another unrealistic happy ending for them. They were still Booth and Brennan—partners destined for nothing more.

Brennan squeezed his hand and pressed her palm to his face to get his attention. Unable to keep from responding to her gentle touch, he looked at her, his fear and pain clearly visible in those intoxicating brown eyes. He wasn't yet well or clear-headed enough to hide his pain from her. The medications were making it impossible for him to keep his grief a secret.

"Booth, what's wrong? You're okay. We got Kwon. We solved the case. Everyone is safe. There's nothing to worry about." She was obviously being supportive, but she'd given him no sign of any reason to hope that things might have changed or that he had any reason to hope that they might find happiness outside the neat borders of their partnership. The pain of that realization far exceeded his current physical wounds.

_So what can I say?_  
_What can I do?_  
_I'm still in love._  
_Why aren't you?_

"Thank you," he choked out before closing his eyes and allowing the pain medication to lull him back to sleep. It had been obvious that he'd been upset, but she hadn't been able to convince him to talk about it. Aching but determined not to leave him, Brennan kept an even more constant vigil in his room since the nurses weren't monitoring him as closely. When visitors came to see him, she left some of them alone with him, but she never strayed farther than across the hallway so that she could keep an eye on him from a distance.

Cam and Angela had spoken later of the haunted expression on Booth's face. He had been unusually quiet and evasive when each of the women had tried to find out what was wrong. He had not pretended that he was in better shape than he was, and he had avoided all conversation about Bones—even when both women had repeatedly hit upon the topic of his partner sensing that she might be the source of the cloud that hung over him.

Aching but still determined to do what he needed, Brennan had lied to the staff and snuck Parker up to see his father even though he wasn't technically old enough to be allowed to visit. Brennan had taken time to explain to him that his father was just sleeping. Technically, the child wasn't old enough to visit such a vulnerable patient, but Brennan had insisted that Rebecca bring him up. Never mind that they had pretended he was a few years older than he really was. Brennan had talked circles around the nurse until she just gave up and let the boy in.

Taking in the view of his father so pale and so still, Parker was instantly afraid. He hugged his mother tightly and looked to Brennan for guidance. "What do I do now?" Parker asked, worry visible on his small brow. "Tell him a bedtime story to help him rest," Brennan suggested. She watched as the small boy had knelt on the chair beside his father's bed and whispered to him for a short time. She understood all too well how helpless and worried the boy felt as he watched his father lie there so unnatural and unmoving.

_'Cause it don't matter to the moon_  
_If you're not in my life_

She hadn't heard the prayers Parker had said for his father. She hadn't heard his pleas with him to wake up and spend time with him and with Bones. She hadn't heard the small child telling his father that he was so happy that he'd found someone to be happy with and spend time with when he was with his mother. She hadn't heard him tell his father that Bones looked more worried and upset than he'd ever seen her. He had begged him to wake up so that she wouldn't look so sad.

Brennan had only seen Parker wipe tears when he'd turned to leave the room. She also hadn't seen Booth stir as his son's footsteps had moved farther away.

_No, the moon will just keep hanging round, hanging round_  
_Like it's just another night_  
_To find another place to shine_  
_On some other lovers' dreams_

After reassuring Parker that his father would wake up soon and come home, Brennan hugged the boy tightly. She steeled herself realizing that she wasn't going to be able to avoid the inevitable conversation Rebecca looked determined to have with her about the circumstances that had brought them to the hospital. But as she was contemplating desperate excuses for postponing that talk even longer, she heard Booth calling her name.

Excusing herself brusquely, she rushed back into the room—as afraid of what he'd say as she was that she might miss it.

_'Cause it don't matter to the moon no, no_  
_But it matters to me_

When she hurried as quickly as she could to his bedside and placed her hand over his to comfort him, Booth surprised her by gripping her hand tightly and pulling her closer, "Bones. Be honest. I need to know. Was it another dream?"

_'Cause it don't matter to the moon no, no  
But it matters to me_

**Lyrics Continued from It Don't Matter to the Sun performed beautifully by Rosie Thomas**


	18. Chapter 18

**[A/N: Thanks to **_**Butterfliesandmudpies **_**and**_** SweetSouthernGal **_**for keeping me straight.**__**Don't ask me how I flubbed and called Rebecca Booth's ex-wife. I know they were never married. That text was added last-minute, and I can only claim temporary insanity. Sorry for that. I've pulled it out. I'm adding this note at the top of this chapter in case I accidentally repost the whole chapter in my attempt to edit….LOL.]**

**Chapter 18: Translation Complete **

"_There are few efforts more conducive to humility than that of the translator trying to communicate an incommunicable beauty..." ~ Edith Hamilton_

"_If the dream is a translation of waking life, waking life is also a translation of the dream." ~ Rene Magritte_

_**When she hurried as quickly as she could to his bedside and placed her hand over his to comfort him, Booth surprised her by gripping her hand tightly and pulling her closer, "Bones. Be honest. I need to know. Was it another dream?"**_

"What?"

"Our conversation in the alley. When you said...," his voice trailed off painfully as he searched her face for some sign–some translation of his fragmented memories into a version that meant his heart shouldn't shatter into a million pieces. He felt as if he were hanging on the edge of a cliff—her response could either renew his faltering hope or crush it completely.

He could hardly breathe as his partner looked at him intently. He felt as if he were one of those bodies she examined on a microscopic level. However, because he was her partner, because he had skin and bones and a heart being tortured, he feared that she couldn't see him clearly at all. _It had been another dream. It had been a horribly twisted dream_, he thought, aching as he resigned himself to the knowledge that he really hadn't ever had a chance with her.

Brennan watched as Booth swallowed hard and appeared to reach some sort of conclusion. She hated seeing the hope bleed out of his expression. She ached with the knowledge that his first thought would have to be that he had been alone in hoping that they could build something amazing upon the friendship each of them had long treasured as his most important relationship.

Reaching out with her trembling hand, she pressed his cheek into her palm and guided it back so that he had no choice but to look into her eyes despite his gut-wrenching pain. Blinking back tears, she whispered, "You mean the part when I told you that 'I knew,' too?"

He nodded almost imperceptibly, hope and fear swirling equally in his tortured eyes. Surely the pain meds were making him dream this, too.

"No, Booth. That wasn't a dream. It was real. I did know-from the start; I still do."

He said nothing, but his heart monitor raced wildly as he stared at her in disbelief.

She smiled at him, understanding his pain and confusion and wanting nothing more than to rid him of both, "Booth, calm down. It's okay. We can talk about it later. You need to rest..."

Booth surprised her by reaching for the button to raise his bed. "Wanna sit," he mumbled, struggling to work the controls he'd normally have no difficulty managing. She'd expected some sort of dramatic reaction—acceptance, happiness, yelling, denial, or even confusion. But absolute dismissal of what she'd just said to him for some inane physical reason? It just didn't fit with the way Booth would react to her telling him life-altering news. Unless it hadn't been accepted as life-altering by him. _Oh, no..._

Tears of regret filling her eyes, Brennan replaced his hand on the controller with hers and raised the bed so that he could sit up. She turned away from him while the bed lifted her partner to a sitting position so that she could swipe at her falling tears, determined to hide them so that she could be his partner—his friend. Apparently that was all he wanted from her now.

But when he had sat up and looked at her with an unreadable expression, Brennan suddenly felt angry with him. He asked her for water and then grimaced as he choked down a few sips after she brought a cup and straw to him. Booth sighed. He'd brushed his teeth earlier with some serious help from the nurse after she'd shaved him, but his mouth still felt dry and disgusting. Spying the bottle at his bedside, he asked her for mouthwash. They'd informed Brennan that he'd want lots of fluids and mouthwash after waking up, but she hadn't expected those needs to overshadow the entirely significant conversation she'd been trying to have with him. A burning rage building deep within her, she brought the cup of mouthwash and a bin for him to expectorate and glared at him as he swirled some around in his mouth and spit it into the container she'd held out for him.

Brennan had been too devastated to think clearly, and that simple fact had been impetus enough for her to start rambling angrily as she placed the tub on his nightstand. "Even if you don't return the sentiment, you could at least acknowledge the fact that I just made a very difficult confession, Booth. I've sat here for days worrying that I could lose you. And then I pour my metaphorical heart out to you and you... you ask me to help you raise the bed and bring you things? You know how difficult it was for me to talk with you about my feelings. How... how can you be so inconsiderate?"

He smirked at her as only someone on pain medication could do, and she'd have slapped him if he hadn't just had surgery-of all the nerve. "Are you one of THOSE men who just like the thrill of the chase? Once you get what you want, you turn all selfish and insensitive? Was it all an act? All those times you were considerate and thoughtful and not so self-absorbed?" With the bed rail down, she towered over him glowering at him, and he loved every moment of her rage.

Damn, he loved it when she was furious with him. Irrational, irritated Bones was one of his favorite sparring partners because only he could bring her out to fight with him, and she didn't appear to him very often. Even though it sent pain searing through his torso, Booth grabbed one of her hands and used it to pull her closer to him. After he had yanked her close and surprised her, he slipped his hand out of hers, placed it behind her neck and used it to pull her even closer to him. Ignoring his wounds and his discomfort, he pulled her whisper close and stared at her for a long moment.

"Tell me again. I need to hear it."

Tears filling her eyes as they connected with his and saw the emotion there on display for her alone, her heart slowed enough to allow her to realize that he'd never rejected her or pushed her confessions aside carelessly. Now that he'd pulled her so close, she realized that he'd asked for the mouthwash for her sake as much as his own. He'd wanted to sit up to meet her on her level. He was still Booth, he was still her best friend, and he was still reaching out to her and thinking of her. Her heart clenched as she watched him stare at her as if he could see through her into her brain or her heart or whatever organ or body part made her helpless to stop loving him.

Confident that he shared her desperation for them to move past the impasse they'd been stalled in for years, she now spoke to him more boldly than he'd ever dreamt possible, "I knew you were the one when we first met. There's no one else Booth. Nobody but you. It's always been you."

"Bones..."

Afraid her heart would explode if she heard any heartfelt confession from him just then, Temperance leaned in and kissed him, softly and tenderly at first. Each felt the other's pause as the air had been pushed out of their lungs from the shock of the sheer pleasure of that hope-filled kiss. Booth held her close and caressed her lips with his own, worshipping at the altar of Temperance Brennan he'd admired from afar for too long. Time had been suspended for him the way it always had been in times of danger. There had been nothing dangerous about this experience-except for the fact that he had already become wholeheartedly addicted to kissing her. He savored every moment, every sensation, and every chance to experience something new with the woman he loved. Brennan had been reeling, too. Her heart pounded, and her nerve endings pulsed as if lit by some physiologically impossible fire. She felt him show her his feelings through their intimate contact, and she didn't hesitate to accept his offering and to proffer her own to him in kind.

They took turns exploring the taste and touch of one another, lingering in tender as well as more steamy, wet kisses as long as they could stand it. Pausing only when breathing had been required to continue living, they embarked upon a new type of wordless communication they both craved to pursue. As emotions shifted from pure joy to amazement to intense need to tender care, the partners immersed themselves in one another they way they'd been destined to do so many years ago. Neither tequila nor mistletoe, nor family obligations nor pressure from psychologists could impinge upon this most precious set of real first kisses.

When he finally released her from his fairly tight grip, she smiled at him and squeezed his hand. Despite the pain, he pulled her back to him so that her face had been mere inches from his. "So Bones," he asked earnestly, fighting back the pain of overdoing it because this mattered too much to leave any room for doubt. "Did you really mean it? Do you want to give this thing with us a try?"

She smiled at him, a tear trailing down her cheek before he could stop it. "It's what I've always wanted, Booth. You weren't the only one. I was scared... terrified... immobilized by my fear. But I knew, too. From our first case. I... I was so afraid I'd lost you... I..."

Her words evaporated as he pulled her closer and covered her lips with his own. Without the tequila and without an audience, and without his desperation that he was losing her tempering the magic, they lost themselves in an even more epic kiss—one that was devastatingly open and honest and full of only hope and love. It was also fairly intense considering that one of them had been confined to a hospital bed and the other wasn't yet fully mobile.

When she finally pulled back far enough away to look down at him, she had been startled by the intensity of the way that he had been gazing up at her. It was clear to her now that he'd only shown her a portion of what he had felt for her all these years.

"That was worth the wait," he whispered. "You... you have always been worth the wait." She then crushed his lips again with her own, showing him more skillfully than she'd ever have been able to tell him that she thought that he had always been the one for her, too. They were so lost in one another that neither of them had heard the knock at the door. It had only been when Rebecca cleared her throat loudly while tapping Temperance on the shoulder that they realized that they were no longer alone.

"Rebecca," Booth said breathlessly, keeping his grip on Bones so that she couldn't move farther away from him even though she was now trying to do so. He smiled as he noticed the blush creeping up Bones' face. God, she was even sexier when she was embarrassed, he realized. Rebecca needed to leave and fast. "I don't wanna be rude, but Bones and me... we're kinda having a moment here," he said, raising his eyebrows and nodding to the mother of his child to ask her to leave them alone.

"It's OK, Booth," Brennan said as she turned to smile at Rebecca. "Parker's probably outside waiting to see you. He's been so worried about you. You should talk to him."

"Park's here?" Booth asked, trying to look around the women to see his son. He smiled as he saw Parker's messy mop of curls bouncing up and down outside the window on his hospital room door.

Smiling at Booth, Brennan pulled upright and out of his grasp, crossed the room, and swung the door wide open. "He's awake, Parker. Come in and see your dad."

"Thanks, Bones!" Parker squealed, running into the room and leaping up on the bed before anyone could stop him. He landed with a thud partially on Booth's left side, not knowing or caring that he might have caused his dad pain as he wrapped his arms around his neck and let his tears fall once more.

"Hey, it's OK, pal," Booth said, rubbing his son's back to console him. "I'm fine… Everything's OK." Booth carefully nudged his son to the side so that he could sit beside him on the bed. Brennan noticed Booth exhale as if he were still in pain from the way that Parker landed on him. He shook his head slightly, letting her know that he was fine and that the boy hadn't done any damage. At least he'd landed on the side least injured. She smiled, watching the way that he interacted with his son. Without saying anything, she turned and left the room so that they could have some private family time.

T R A N S L A T I O N . . . T R A N S L A T I O N . . . T R A N S L A T I O N . . . T R A N S L A T I O N . . .

About fifteen minutes later, Parker bounded out of the room with his mother following closely on his heels. "You can go back in now, Bones," Parker said with a grin. She looked up at him and smiled, and he literally threw himself into her arms. "Thanks for saving me Bones. My mom said we won't ever forget how brave you were and how you saved me and Dad," he whispered as he turned and planted a sloppy kiss on her cheek.

"Parker's right, you know," Rebecca said, tears filling her eyes. "We owe you. Thank you so much for all you did for him... for both of them."

"I... It was nothing. It was what partners do...," Brennan stammered uncomfortably.

"It wasn't nothing," Rebecca admonished and she hugged the woman herself despite how uncomfortable it made Brennan. Then she winked at her approvingly and said, "And next time, don't leave the room on our account."

"Oh, I just wanted you to be able to have some private family time," Brennan insisted.

"Silly Bones! You are family! You're part of our family now," Parker said with a huge grin. "Right mom?"

"Right, Parker," Rebecca said with a wink in his direction. "I think that's why your dad was asking us to send her back in."

"Goodnight, Bones! See you soon!" Parker said as he took his mother's hand and pulled her down the hallway.

"Goodnight," Temperance replied, a huge lump in her throat as she watched them walk away. Slowly, she gathered her composure and returned to the doorway of Booth's room.

As she looked in, she noticed that he looked tired but it was obvious that he had been waiting for her—a smile on his face as he nodded in her direction. She stood there for a long moment realizing how the very sight of him had become for her something sacred—she felt at home with him wherever they were together.

"That son of yours is quite a charmer," Brennan said as she made her way slowly back into the room.

"Like father, like son?" Booth asked with a hopeful expression on his face.

"Give him a few years," Temperance teased, "and he'll be giving you a jog for your money."

Booth laughed and then winced with the pain that wracked his frame. Trying to breathe normally, he didn't bother with correcting her gaff this time.

"Are you OK? Can I do something for you?" she asked, concern flooding her features.

"Yeah. This other bed rail. Can you move it back up?" Booth asked, trying to adjust the railing on that side of the bed one-handed.

"Of course. But why?" she asked as she lowered the rail and looked at him curiously.

Booth just grinned, moved over a bit and patted the other side of the mattress to indicate that she should sit where Parker had been earlier. Smiling, Brennan walked around, lowered herself gently onto the mattress, slipped off her shoes, and slid underneath the covers with her partner. Maneuvering in the crowded space without hurting Booth had been difficult and took some time, but she had finally settled her head upon his uninjured shoulder. He held her close, relishing the feel of her lying there peacefully with him.

"So this story you were telling me last time in the hospital. Back at the beginning, did the characters take it slowly and keep their relationship..." he paused, suddenly choked up with the reality that they were really doing this. He and Bones were going to try a relationship. It almost seemed like cheating even to admit that in his head. "Did they keep their relationship under wraps for a while?"

She smiled at him, mesmerized by the warmth and the hope flooding those beautiful brown eyes of his. "Well, after five years of flirting and foreplay, I think they dispensed with formalities because she wrecked his world."

Booth laughed out loud, but the pain brought tears to his eyes and made him stop. He pulled her close and kissed her again, letting the magic of their touch heal him more quickly than medication could have. "Rocked his world, Bones. We'll just have to see who rocks whom when I'm out of here and healed."

The End.

_**[A/N: Ridiculously long epilogue chapter to follow. Scary long. Might even have to be broken into epi-bits.]**_


	19. Chapter 19

_**[A/N: I'm certain that this epilogue is far too light and too disconnected from the rest of the story to fit, but I can't make myself care. Relatively speaking, it's a "Happy-logue." It demanded to be written. Consider it a reward for surviving the angst and misery. After this epilogue got RIDICULOUSLY LONG, I told Skole that this might have been better as a separate, happy story, but I appear to be allergic to writing completely happy stories. I've tried and failed. More than once. Can't quite make it happen.**_

_**I am almost completely convinced that, were Brennan ever to decide to meet Booth somewhere close to halfway and give things between them a try, she might not have that much difficulty sticking to her decision once it had been made. I think making that initial decision is what is hardest for her—deciding that she's enough for him and that they can still work together is all that's standing in their way. I do think that, if she really made that decision and pushed her doubts aside, she'd be in completely—fully immersing herself in an experiment she'd enjoy more than she'd expected. That hypothesis underlies this epilogue.**_

_**If you don't buy Bones' actions in this epilogue, let me know. I welcome any and all comments and want to learn better how to understand her and her point of view. I'm still stumped that she hasn't just jumped him and held on for dear life. Clearly she's not thinking rationally….]**_

**Epilogue for Translation (Part 1 of 2)**

As she stood grating cheese beside the sink in Booth's kitchen, Brennan's thoughts returned to recent conversations and memories of her time with her partner.

_The morning following their decision to pursue a relationship, Booth had woken first. He had lain there awake for more than an hour watching her sleep and trying to believe that she had really been in that hospital bed his arms. But as the clock had neared nine and the start of visiting hours, he had to consider that she was probably not ready for their friends and colleagues to walk in and find them sharing a bed. Personally, he wanted the entire world to know she'd given in, but he realized that his partner might need time to adjust to the change in their relationship before sharing it with others. He wanted to make this transition as easy as possible for her._

_Booth tried again to nudge Bones to wake up. She rolled over the slightest bit and smiled up at him through sleepy eyes. "Morning, Bones," he whispered, nudging her so that she'd reach up and kiss him. _

"_Good morning," she whispered after the kiss. His heart caught in his throat for a long moment just watching her smile._

_Finally recovering, Booth glanced toward the clock. "It's almost visiting hours, Bones."_

"_I'm well acquainted with the hospital's policy for constraining visitors, Booth. I've been here for days."_

"_I... Well, I just wasn't sure you'd want to be here... in my bed... if someone came in."_

"_I doubt that anyone will suspect that we've had intercourse, Booth. You just left intensive care."_

"_Jeez, Bones! It's early for explicit conversation. I just..."_

"_You were just trying to avoid making me face an uncomfortable set of circumstances. You do things like that. I thought we'd talked about this, Booth. We're in a relationship, and I see no need to be uncomfortable if people find out about it."_

"_Really? So you wouldn't feel at all awkward or uncomfortable if say... your dad or Sweets or... even Hacker walked in and found me kissing you in this bed?" he asked, more than a bit turned on by the mere idea of her reacting that well to telling people their news._

"_You're the one more likely to be unnerved by the arrival of one of those people, Booth," she said, pulling away from him and getting up._

"_Wait! Bones, if you're really okay, then stay..."_

"_No. I wouldn't want to make you uncomfortable," she whispered smiling and watching his frustration build._

_He had scowled at her once he'd realized she'd begun teasing him. Bones on a mission to tease him was a force that intimidated him—in a big way. He grinned at her—ready for that challenge and any other she were to throw at him._

"_Seriously, Bones, I think we need to tell Max about this. He's asked before—about my intentions. He deserves to know that we're not sneaking around behind his back."_

"_I agree. I think that you should talk to him. I have never found it necessary to discuss my social life with my father, and I don't intend to seek his approval of my sexual partners now. However, you two share some common alpha male vocabulary and system of rules. Based on your history with a ritualistic communication method I still can't understand, I have to conclude that he'd appreciate hearing it from you."_

"_Partner. **I'm** your **only** partner," Booth half-growled. When she grinned at him, he tried to tamp down his jealousy, "Fine. I'll talk to Max," he agreed, motioning her over. Smiling at the earnest expression on his face, she leaned down and kissed him deeply. As she pulled back and enjoyed watching the flash of need on her partner's face, she walked away from him and asked if he'd also be the one to talk to Sweets._

"_Screw the twelve-year-old. I can do without the smug expression he'll be wearing once he finds out. Nope. I'm not telling Sweets. Neither are you. He can find out from someone else."_

_Booth paused and watched her pull clean clothes from a bag so that she could dress for the day. "You should probably talk to Hacker, Bones."_

"_We weren't even really dating, Booth. I hardly owe Andrew an explanation..."_

"_An explanation about what?" the deputy director asked from where he had just arrived in the doorway to Booth's room._

_Booth shot at look at Bones trying to tell her that this was her business to settle—not his. He wasn't optimistic that she'd read him correctly. Dammit, he didn't want to have to be the one to tell his boss to keep his hands off his woman, but he would, if necessary._

"_Andrew, how kind of you to stop by and check on Booth," Brennan began with a genuine smile at the gentleman who looked puzzled as he stood in the doorway. Booth was so unnerved by her bizarrely normal social greeting of his boss that he said nothing._

"_Booth's a tough old cuss. I knew he'd be fine. He's probably just extending his stay so that he can eat more pudding," Hacker joked with a smirk at his employee who returned the smile weakly. "But how are you, Temperance? I heard you'd been shot. I hope that it wasn't too serious. It must not have been. You look wonderful...," he added with a charm smile that wasn't quite as alluring as the one employed by his subordinate._

"_I am recovering nicely, Andrew," Brennan said as she walked closer to Booth's bed. _

"_Bones, maybe you two should go get a cup of coffee or something," Booth offered. He wasn't at all eager to watch Bones trounce his boss' hopes—as long as she trounced them and quickly._

"_Coffee sounds great. I think I saw a coffee shop on the corner," Andrew offered taking a step in her direction._

"_Andrew, you have always told me that you appreciate my candor. Well, I feel the need to be completely candid with you now."_

_Before Booth realized what had happened, she'd slipped her hand into his. Halfway convinced he was hallucinating because of his medication, Booth watched the harsh reality wash over his boss even before she spoke again._

"_Andrew, I cannot continue to date you," she said searching his face for understanding._

"_Are you angry that I didn't come sooner to inquire about your health?" Andrew asked, still not sure whether she were holding Booth's hand for support or for another unwelcome reason. "My people assured me that you were in no serious danger."_

"_No, Andrew. I am not angry with you. However, I cannot date you or anyone else. I am... Booth and I have decided to initiate a relationship of our own. I would never be unfaithful to him. It is my understanding that continuing to date you would violate the social contract Booth and I have entered."_

_Had he not been so happy that she'd told him so boldly, so emphatically, Booth might have cringed. As it was, he tried to keep the grin on his face down to a wattage that would be less offensive to the spurned man before them._

_Blushing more than a bit and glancing back and forth between them for a long moment, Hacker finally spoke, "I see. Well... I suppose congratulations are in order. I had always suspected that you two might be hiding something."_

"_Sir, we never...," Booth started explaining._

_Hacker raised a hand to stop Booth from speaking and interrupted, "No explanation needed, Booth. Of course, we'll need to document the relationship, and your partnership will undergo increased scrutiny before you're allowed back into the field."_

"_But you won't stand in the way of our partnership, will you Andrew?" Brennan asked her need to work with her partner evident in her expression._

"_Temperance, Booth's been in love with you for years. I've enjoyed watching him squirm to try to hide his feelings. He hated the fact that I asked you out. Your relationship has never presented a problem for the two of you before. I cannot imagine that it will now. In fact, I'm guessing that putting your relationship out in the open will make things more efficient and less dangerous for other agents who find you attractive and aren't skilled or smart enough to hide it."_

"_Sir... I...,"Booth began out of gratitude. He had no idea what the appropriate thing to say was, but Hacker was being extremely accepting and supportive, so he felt the need to say something._

"_Booth, I can't blame you. She's an amazing woman. Don't screw it up." Relieved this was going so well, Booth opted to nod in response._

"_Thank you, Andrew," Brennan said gratefully._

_Despite that major setback, Hacker did an adequate job of paying the bureaucratic visit to a wounded agent. He did like Booth and had benefitted from his successful partnership with Temperance, so it wasn't too difficult to suppress his personal disappointment and wish them well. Because Booth was still bedridden and medicated, he remained an easy target and Hacker threw in a few more digs before leaving, but he was a pretty decent sport about having his hopes dashed._

_As soon as the man had left the room, Brennan had leaned down and kissed Booth, and he had relished her tender touch as much as the words she'd just uttered about them._

Smiling as she remembered the look of wonder on Booth's face when she'd kissed him, Brennan checked on the food in the oven and then moved to set the table. She laughed at the mismatched tableware and linens she'd found. Booth had a surprisingly well stocked kitchen for a bachelor, but it quickly became obvious he had never replaced bowls broken or glasses chipped or cracked, so his sets of things were missing odd pieces. It was apparent that he didn't cook for crowds and that he wasn't overly concerned about the appearance of his table when he did prepare meals for others. Brennan made a mental note that she'd either need to bring more of her things over when she cooked or that she'd need to buy Booth a new set of cloth napkins and a serving platter.

Momentarily stunned by the fact that she was thinking of housekeeping for him and with him, she shook her head and continued with her task. She eased back into other memories to remind her why she had no reason to feel uneasy no matter what she was thinking about Booth.

_That first night she'd brought him home from the hospital, Booth had insisted that she stay the night at his apartment. When she'd gone in and made up Parker's room for the night for her own use, Booth had whined, demanding that she stay in his room with him._

"_I don't think that's appropriate, Booth. You're recovering and we..."_

"_You want me," he'd said with a grin that had betrayed the gloating he was now doing at her expense. Over the last few days, Brennan had learned that the unorthodox combination of pain medications and kissing were the antidote to Booth's reticence about sexual matters._

_Unable to lie to him, she joked instead, "Well, you're the one who promised that you'd 'consume' me, Booth. I can hardly be expected not to dwell upon a scenario like that."_

"_Oh, you're mean. Really mean. You know I can't. Not yet. Doctor's orders."_

_As Brennan moved around the room slowly unpacking Booth's things for him, they continued talking. "I did think it was strange that Dr. Carson repeated the instructions about abstaining from sexual intercourse until at least your three week post-op visit. You didn't suffer any neurological damage. I'm not sure why he was so repetitive," she admitted as she pulled dirty clothing from the bag he'd used at the hospital._

_Booth grinned. He knew that his doctors and everyone else who'd paraded through his hospital room had seen clearly what he felt for and wanted to express to his Bones. Still, he wasn't ready to say that out loud to his partner—not yet—not even on these meds, "He saw the way you looked at me, Bones. He was afraid you'd try to jump my bones."_

_Brennan had scoffed and made excuses, "You were the one leering at me whenever I was across the room. I'm recovering, too, Booth. Overactivity would not be good for either of us at this time. That is why I'm sleeping in the guest room."_

"_But Bones...," he whined, "I'll be lonely in here all by myself."_

"_Booth, it wouldn't be wise..."_

_She was surprised by the intensity of his outburst, "Screw being wise, Bones! We've been nothing but wise for years. We survived and we're giving this a try, and dammit, I want to kiss my girl."_

_She refused to allow him to see how moved she was by his honesty, "I am not your "girl," and I'm not sleeping in here. Pout if you will—and I know you're putting that pouty face on already—but I'm not giving in."_

_When she turned back around, he really had looked crestfallen. Her heart panged for him. God, how she hated seeing him look sad. Cursing her weakness and realizing that she was setting a dangerous precedent by giving in so easily, she walked over to him and sat down on the edge of the bed._

"_It's just a bit longer, Booth. Soon we'll both be recovered and nothing will stop us from submitting to our hormonal urges," she said planting a tender kiss on his lips. Surprising her in that way to which she hoped she'd never grow accustomed, he grasped her upper arms and pulled her closer so that he could deepen the kiss. When she finally pulled back, they had both been breathing heavily. Suddenly three weeks seemed like an eternity._

"_Don't you want to do... more of that?" Booth asked, his eyes sparkling with desire for her as a devilish grin flashed across his face. She didn't bother responding. They both knew that he'd never asked a more rhetorical question._

"_You have pain medication to force you to sleep. I'd just have to lie here... frustrated."_

"_Not for long, baby. Not for long." She had blushed and he had tugged her back in gently for another kiss. She had eventually lost the battle and ended up sleeping curled next to him as the drugs had finally taken him under. _

_Surprisingly, she had had little trouble dozing off—Booth's body had been warm and strong and she had felt safe and protected in his arms. She'd always dreamt that being held by him would feel that wonderful. She was happy that it had.  
_

T R A N S L A T I O N . . . T R A N S L A T I O N . . . T R A N S L A T I O N . . . T R A N S L A T I O N . . .

_She had stayed with him for more than two weeks. She'd taken a week off work to recover and to care for him, and then she'd worked a shorter schedule for another week so that she could distract him in the evenings from his inability to be active. She knew that he'd have tried to return to the office if she hadn't "rewarded" him with time spent kissing as well as with movies to watch and games to play and new graphic novels to read in the evenings._

_They'd enjoyed quiet nights on the sofa spending time talking and debating and bickering as they had for years, but the experience was made brand new by the fact that Booth could hold her hand and memorize its lines and curves and textures and that she could kiss him to win a debate instead of nudging him with an elbow or smacking him in a platonic, friendly way. They'd kissed endlessly and talked a great deal. Booth never seemed to tire of telling her how happy he was that she was giving them a chance—the only chance he knew they'd need to be together and be happy. With coaching, she'd talked to him to some extent about her own feelings and about her hope that she could follow his lead and enjoy the new experience of having a relationship with someone she deemed so personally significant._

_By the end of the second week, Booth was out of bed all day except when sleeping. Pressing ahead of the schedule his physician had recommended, he'd begun weaning himself off his medications and had started taking long walks and doing light running on the treadmill. The more normal and fit he felt, the more demonstrative he'd become. Brennan had been far more intimidated by the tender words that seemed to flow so effortlessly from him than by the return of his physical prowess and stamina. Adjusting to a Booth who found even more opportunities to tell her how beautiful he thought she was and who held her so tenderly as they slept was far more difficult than adjusting to the way that his touches and his stares awakened deeper desire within her. Although their ability to react physically upon their newly confessed feelings had been limited by circumstances and Booth's medications, she'd known that those conditions were temporary. She hadn't quite been able to talk to Booth about the fact that she was afraid that physical intimacy would unlock an even deeper store of emotion and feeling and affection from him. She wasn't sure she was prepared to deal with happy, sappy Booth on a permanent basis. _

_Still, if anyone had asked her if they'd still not have consummated their relationship nearly a month after the shootout, Brennan would have insisted that neither of them would have been able to hold off that long. Despite her reservations, she'd made it clear that her intentions were for them to leap headfirst into all aspects of their budding relationship starting with the physical realm-arguing that so many years of silent longing had been more than long enough to wait. Booth had initially ignored her bold declarations about her plans for them to be intimate as soon as possible, but the more they'd kissed and talked and spent time together, the more she realized that he would give in to her demands without even considering a fight._

_Still, as both of them had recovered and Booth had neared the three-week mark—the point at which he had hoped his activities would no longer be restricted, she'd gotten a call about a case and left a mopey Booth alone at his apartment to continue healing. _

_Assigned to work again on a temporary basis with Agent Perotta, Brennan had immersed herself in her work night and day. Booth had called often and ranted at her loudly for not returning to his apartment after work each evening. He'd also harassed Perotta, but she'd learned how to manage him when he was on medical leave and didn't allow him to bother her this time._

_Now that she had left him to fend for himself at his apartment, Brennan had realized that she had begun avoiding him, but she had an ulterior motive she hadn't been ready to discuss with him. She had brushed off Booth's complaints—insisting that she had work to do and needed to retain some degree of independence from him even though they were now pursuing a relationship. She'd sent Sid and Charlie and different members of the Jeffersonian team by to appease him and distract him and take him food and supplies. Each had returned with a report of a grumpy FBI agent who had said for each of them "to send Bones back to his apartment, dammit."_

_After taking him for his post-op appointment, picking up an antibiotic to ward off what appeared to be an infection, and indulging in a long lunch back at his apartment to celebrate the fact that he was nearly completely recovered and that his doctors assured him that he would be 100 percent by the next weekend, Brennan had again slipped away again and avoided him skillfully. Despite her intentions to avoid him, she had spoken to him often, returned his pouty text messages, and thought of him constantly. _

_Booth had no way of knowing that the things she was doing that hurt his feelings were actually revealing the true nature of hers. Over time, Brennan had been relieved to realize that she missed him as much as he seemed to be missing her. She'd half-suspected that working at the lab would have pushed him from her thoughts or distracted her from her longing to be with him. It hadn't–at least not for more than small stretches of time. That helped convince her that her feelings for Booth were indeed genuine. If thoughts of Booth could exceed her ability to focus completely on her work, she had to admit that he had become more significant to her. She was compiling valuable evidence she needed badly—even if it was being gathered at the expense of spending time with Booth._

_By the middle of his fourth week of recovery at home, Brennan had been close to wrapping up the case with Perotta with the single-minded intention of making sure she would be free to work only with Booth once he was back in the office. But just when she'd been prepared to call him and suggest that they go out on a date and reconnect, the head of the anthropology department at Harvard had called to remind her that she'd need to leave town for two days for a speaking engagement that had been confirmed months ago but that had not registered on her radar since her return to work. _

_Booth had taken the news of her ill-timed trip out of town rather poorly. She had actually been quite surprised that Booth hadn't shown up at the lab or at her apartment or even at the airport when she'd returned to town. He still hadn't been allowed to drive because of some of the medications he was still taking, and she had been relieved that he hadn't disobeyed doctor's orders. She had talked with him often and spoken to him by video when she'd been out of town, but she'd seen his frustration rise as the week had dragged on and he was still facing limited time to spend with her. She hated the mixed signals she appeared to be sending him, but she'd found that the more time she'd spent away from him, the fewer rational arguments she'd been able to concoct for doing so. She was finding it easier and easier to deem it only logical that she spend time with her partner no matter how emotional and sappy he'd become. Booth didn't know any of this, and she hoped that she wasn't hurting him by keeping her distance temporarily. She wanted to reveal her discovery in person, so she stalled and avoided him until that would be possible._

_Booth and Rebecca had rearranged the visitation schedule and he had Parker for the coming weekend to make up for his spoiled birthday celebration and his dad's recovery time. Booth was looking forward to celebrating Parker's birthday, but that hadn't kept him from wishing he could spend some quality time with Bones. Changing the party plans completely for all their sakes, Booth had arranged to have his son and his son's friend sleep over on Friday night. Spending the evening with Bones without being able to focus on her would have been a disaster. And spending his kid's birthday not focused on him just wasn't going to happen, so Booth had resigned himself to the need to postpone any quality time with his partner. Parker had already been traumatized enough, so Booth had gritted his teeth and decided that he'd just have to wait a few days before kidnapping Bones and keeping her at his place or moving completely into hers. He was rapidly reaching the limit of his patience with the unnecessary distance she'd put between them._

_Booth had rescheduled the fishing trip with Pops for Sunday afternoon and they men were due back from that trip any moment. Booth had been disappointed that they'd be forced to fish at the small lake at Pops' retirement home, but he hadn't yet been well enough to lug a bigger boat around and to make sure both his grandfather and his son had stayed safe. He promised himself and the two men he adored that they'd have a real fishing trip away when he was back to full strength. The silver lining in this plan had been that Parker had requested that Bones join in the birthday dinner celebration, and he had finally found a reason valid enough to buy him some time with his new girlfriend._

Brennan had been putting the finishing touches on the meal she'd prepared for her guests when she had received a text message that made her smile. She'd left Booth's kitchen instantly to look out the window. Her smile widened as the man she loved strode only slightly slower than normal from his SUV toward the apartment.

She'd been thrilled when he'd told her that Parker had asked that they have dinner with her that evening. She'd apologized for staying away for so long and suggested that they talk soon about their relationship. Pleased with Booth's enthusiastic response, she'd gone over early to cook for the men and had been eagerly anticipating their return to Booth's apartment.

Moments later, she turned to see Booth enter the apartment and rush to her, folding her into his arms and kissing her as eagerly as a soldier home from war might kiss his long-missed spouse. They were still standing there lip-locked when Parker and Pops entered the apartment.

"Ew!" Parker squealed, drawing laughter from his great-grandfather and blushes from his father and his girlfriend. "Pops, you were right."

"I'm always right, kiddo. You can't blame your dad. He wanted to kiss Dr. Brennan like that years ago. He's just making up for lost time."

"Jeez, Pops... You could have knocked or something for the kid's sake," Booth grumbled with a smile still on his face. He moved around behind Bones and wrapped his arms around her convinced that he'd never tire of the way that simple touch still stent him reeling.

"You two wouldn't have heard us knocking, Casanova. Mmmm... Something smells great."

"Bones has made us her incredible mac and cheese. She's a wonderful cook. Almost as good as you, Pops," he said, squeezing his partner's hands to let her know that his lie was only told to make his grandfather feel better.

The four of them had a terrific evening. After the Booth men had eaten every morsel of food Brennan had prepared, Pops had insisted upon helping her with the dishes so that Booth and Parker could spend some quality time together.

As they had been drying the last of the dishes, Pops looked serious for a moment, "He really loves you, Temperance."

She swallowed hard, tears filling her eyes with the realization that his words were true, "I... I care about him, too."

"I've never seen Seeley as happy with anyone else as he is with you. I'm glad you two are taking a chance on each other. He won't let you down."

"I know."

"Relationships aren't easy. But Seeley's as loyal and giving as they come. He just wants to be with you. Don't let the intensity of what he feels for you scare you away. He'll slow down if you ask him."

Brennan considered his words carefully. Months ago, "slow" would have been the only way she could have allowed herself to work on a relationship with anyone—especially with her partner. Now that she'd made her bold decision to pursue something more with her partner, she hadn't been feeling as much of a need to proceed with absolute caution as she'd expected she would. But she feared that her partner might need that type of protection. "Do you... do you think that's what he needs from me? Taking things slowly?"

"I'm an old man, so I'm gonna be blunt. I'm assuming he'll want to take his time seducing you properly—at least try to do that slowly. But nothing about that man says that he wants to do anything else except dive in headfirst to anything else you're willing to offer him."

She found his honesty so refreshing that she didn't let it embarrass either of them, "So traditional courting won't be necessary? I thought Booth might want that."

"He's in this for the long haul, sweetheart. There'll be plenty of time for all of those things. The order of them doesn't matter as long as you stay together and get to experience all of them together."

She smiled at him, and he returned her grin, happy to see her looking so relaxed and content to be pursuing a relationship with his grandson.

"Of course, if you want to torture him by making him wait to court you properly, I think I'd love to watch him suffer through it," Pops said, drawing a loud laugh from Brennan.

"What are you two talking about?" Booth asked when he and Parker appeared in the doorway a few moments later.

The dishwashers grinned conspiratorially at one another before Pops shrugged.

"Are you hitting on my girl, Pops? Because that would be wrong on too many levels."

"I tried. I'm not dead yet, you know. Temperance is an incredibly beautiful woman. But her heart's taken, son. Has been since I met her," Pops said with a wink at a smiling Brennan. He patted her shoulder and walked over to hand the dishtowel to his grandson. Booth took it eagerly and walked over to the sink to help Bones. Pops and Parker headed back into the family room to leave the lovebirds alone for a few moments.

"Do I need to ask him to back off?" Booth asked after indulging in a tender kiss.

"He wasn't actually hitting on me, Booth," Brennan insisted a bit frustrated that he might have believed the man.

"I mean about what he was saying to you. I know that look. Pops is meddling. I can make him stop."

"He's a charming man who's trying to help his grandson. I really enjoy talking with him. I never had a grandfather, Booth. It's nice to see what that relationship is like."

"Bones...," he sighed, pulling her into a hug. Moments like that always made him want to hold her. He was grateful that he could do so now without reservation. After a few moments, he pulled back and took her hands in his, "I wish we could have more time alone. I've missed you so much."

Looking up at him with an expression that told him clearly that he was not the only one longing for time alone, Brennan kissed him and then stood looking up at him with her arms now wrapped firmly around his neck, "Have dinner with me tomorrow night?"

"Sure. You mean... like on a real date?" Booth asked grinning and pulling her closer to him.

"Exactly. A real date," she replied happy that he kissed her hard instead of talking more about it. 

_**[A/N: Hope you enjoyed this epi-bit. Believe it or not, this was the "short" part of the happy-logue….lol. Only 5,400 words… The next (final) part is nearly 10,000 words. Someone make me stop. I'm getting an identity crisis.]**_


	20. Chapter 20

_**[A/N: This is monstrously long (over 10,000 words), but I couldn't bring myself to break it up. It was tempting to put the very last short part in a separate chapter, so that I could hang onto this story a bit longer. Posting this has been so much fun. I hope giving you this long final entry was the right decision for you dear readers. I remain awed by your continued reading, your generous reviews, and the over-the-top tweets. Sharing this story with you has been a pleasure! Enjoy Happy-logue Part 2!]**_

**Epilogue to Translation (Part 2—The Final Part)**

After kissing Booth soundly and telling him that she would be looking forward to their first date, Bones had dropped Pops off at the nursing home Sunday night on her way home. Booth had nearly been rooted to the spot where she'd kissed him and said that. He'd never expected Bones to look so happy and doe-eyed about anything—much less a date with him. His frustrations with her delays and avoidance had been whisked away and forgotten completely. How he'd gotten so lucky to have a chance with her, he just didn't know. But he'd take it.

The next day Booth had dropped Parker off at school and headed to the office. He had actually been excited about getting back to work and returning to a normal routine. While he wasn't yet one hundred percent, he was close. He was able to hide his minor discomfort and stride into the office as confidently as he ever had. He thoughtfully considered that the pep in his step likely had everything to do with his plans for the evening.

Booth's first morning back at the office had been filled with well-wishers and other welcomed interruptions. Since he and Bones didn't have another case to work together, he had spent his morning catching up on paperwork from the Westar-Park case and sifting through pages of unread e-mail messages. He'd snuck online and worked through the important ones from home already, but he was amazed how much remained to be done.

Charlie and some of the other guys had done their part to wrap up as many of the details in the case file as they could, but as the primary officer on the case and the one who'd taken out the last two gang members, Booth had been required to document the final details for the case file. He had found that he had needed to take breaks from that work—walking back through that night and the dangers they'd all faced had been too difficult to do all in one stretch. Despite the delays, he had made decent progress and had determined to work with Bones to complete much of the rest of the file—hoping that working on it together would make it easier for both of them.

Around noon, his phone rang. Smiling at the extension from the lab on the display, he picked up quickly, "Booth."

"First date, huh? Where are you taking her, man? What's the grand plan?" Hodgins had asked eagerly. Booth grinned at the support he heard in the other man's voice. They'd slowly moved past being reluctant confidants about the women they loved over the years. "Well, Bones asked me out, Hodgins. I assumed that she'd be the one making the plans."

"Seriously? On the first date? I dunno, man. Even Dr. B may not be that independent. Nice flowers, though. Really nice."

"She got them?" Booth asked, grinning again imagining the look on her face and the squeals from Angela. He'd called the florist early that morning and ordered a big bouquet of daisies and daffodils. He'd even asked the florist to spray paint one of those Styrofoam balls and label it Jupiter and float it in the midst of the flowers. He'd had the florist write "Looking forward to our first date—Booth" on the card.

"Way to up the pressure on the rest of us, man," Hodgins grinned back at him. "But seriously, you're not planning the whole evening? Ang and I were convinced that you..."

"Don't try to get me all worked up, Jack. It's my first day back at the office and I'm snowed under. Besides, it doesn't matter where Bones and I go out as long as we go out," Booth replied honestly.

"You are even more far gone than I realized. Good for you, man," Hodgins said before muttering quickly, "No, Dr. B. I'm not on the phone with the bureau asking for a referral to Booth's florist. I'm working on those samples you sent over..." The line went dead and Booth grinned. He pondered for a moment that perhaps Hodgins had been right. Maybe Bones was expecting gallantry and planning and his best efforts. But just as he considered making arrangements, another agent popped in to shoot the breeze.

"So where is he taking you?" Angela asked as she followed her friend as she rushed back into her office.

"I'm sure I don't know," Brennan said as she sat down, reviewed her notes quickly, and entered data into the computer. "Of course, I'm the one who asked him out—does that mean that I should be the one making the plans? Do we need to have plans?" She wrinkled her brow in frustration, realizing that she was busy and did not want to allocate sufficient time to planning a social engagement.

"Honey, this is Booth we're talking about. Look at these flowers. This man has wanted you for years. He probably has the first ten dates all mapped out already."

Indulging in happy thoughts of her partner for a few moments, Brennan quickly dismissed them. "I have to work now, Angela, so that I can have time to get ready for our date."

"Oh, of course, Sweetie," Angela shrilled as she practically skipped out of the office.

Resigning himself to the fact that he really didn't have time to plan an elaborate evening for them that night, Booth had finally sent Bones a text to ask her if he should pick her up at seven. She had replied that he should and smiled for a long moment before getting back to work.

T R A N S L A T I O N . . . T R A N S L A T I O N . . . T R A N S L A T I O N . . . T R A N S L A T I O N . . .

Any day on which Temperance Brennan left work at any time resembling the end of a normal work day was noteworthy. When Brennan had left the lab at five to get ready for her first date with the man they'd watched hide his feelings from her for years, the rest of the squints had assembled to discuss their ideas about what would happen that evening. Giving up on doing anything else productive when they had such a desirable distraction to discuss, they had headed over to Wong Foo's for dinner and more gossip about their favorite couple finally taking that bold step to become an actual couple.

Meanwhile, Booth had left his office at about 5:15. On his way out, Charlie had yelled, "Have fun on your date, Booth." Booth had grinned and saluted him on his way out the door.

Sweets had overheard Charlie's comment and rushed over after Booth was out of sight. When Charlie had informed him about Booth's date with Dr. B, Sweets had nearly choked on the spot. Recovering quickly, he had dialed Angela and learned that the rest of the team was out at dinner. He made plans to join them immediately.

At precisely 7:00 p.m., Brennan heard a knock on her apartment door. She felt a rush of what felt like substantially more than pure adrenaline as her heart sped up on her way to answer the door. When she opened it, Booth stood there in jeans and a t-shirt and a perfectly arranged-to-look-hastily-thrown-on button down over it. He offered her one long-stemmed red rose when the door opened, and she had been surprised that the gesture made her blush.

"Booth, you've already sent beautiful flowers," she whispered, taking the rose he offered her gallantly.

"You look incredible, Bones," he whispered, drinking in the view of her in casual slacks and a shirt that he'd always found particularly attractive on her. Unlike most of the times they'd left work and headed out on the town, Brennan had styled her hair, applied fresh makeup, and put on a scent that already had his senses humming. The molten heat in his appraising stare raised her temperature.

"Thank you," she whispered, stepping close and kissing his cheek, lingering there for a long moment. Breathless, she told him that she needed to put the flower in water. He followed as she turned and walked back into her apartment.

"So, Bones," he began, trying to sound casual and not as nervous as he suddenly felt. "What's the plan? What would you like to do this evening?"

Smiling at his nervousness, Brennan teased him, "Angela insisted that you'd have a romantic evening all planned."

As she had predicted, Booth swallowed and looked sheepish. She had always found that expression rather adorable on him, so teasing him had been more than worth the effort. "Well, Bones... since you asked me out I didn't want to make any assumptions... in case you wanted to make the plans."

Laughing lightly, she walked over to him and smiled, "It doesn't matter where we go. Since neither of us has made plans, let's just go to the diner."

"Really? You're okay with that? Cause I can call and try to get a table...," he offered as he reached for his cell phone.

"It's just a date, Booth," she said, smiling and placing a hand upon his arm to stop him from rushing to plan something.

"It's my first date with you, Bones. That's... Hell, that's huge. I should have..."

She shook her head at him, "Booth, you know I'm not big on social conventions and traditional roles. We always have a good time at the diner. Let's go. I'm hungry."

She had already been rushing toward the door when he'd caught up with her. "I'm opening the doors, Bones. I always open the doors on dates," he said, pulling the door opened and motioning for her to walk through. Shaking her head a bit at behavior she'd fully expected, she allowed him to hold the door opened for her, relaxing immediately as soon as his hand fell into place on the small of her back. 

T R A N S L A T I O N . . . T R A N S L A T I O N . . . T R A N S L A T I O N . . . T R A N S L A T I O N . . .

They ambled into the diner to their favorite table. To the casual observer, it could have been just like any of the dozens of times they'd done this before. Eating at the diner was comfortable—a habit they both enjoyed, a comfort when nothing else seemed right, and a sacred place where they had shared meaningful conversations about life and love and murder (without the need to call it translation). Yet tonight, the diner held an entirely new aura of hope and possibility and promise. Tonight the diner's ordinary atmosphere and well-known décor were brighter and more polished somehow. Tonight the diner would become another special memory in the virtual scrapbook of their relationship. Tonight, they'd share their first official date in the place in which they'd both pretended they'd never want one.

After they reached "their" table, Booth surprised Bones by sitting down beside her on her side of the table. As she realized that he wasn't sitting in "his" seat, she made a comment about his being out of place and waited for his explanation. Changing anything at the diner required an explanation. They'd just done the same things there for too many years to break tradition without a reason. Finally taking the bold step toward changing something as substantial as their relationship required both of them to act desperately as if everything else were normal and nothing had changed. For her sake, Brennan needed for "them" to still be "Bones and Booth" instead of being some nervous couple trying to navigate the intricacies and landmines of the anthropologically significant first date. Booth's rearranging the seating was not helping her relax and pretend as if this were just another meal with her partner.

Smiling at her as he had countless times before, Booth sat determinedly on her side of the table. He wasn't going to let her intimidate him into moving. With that charming smile lighting his features and disarming her as it caused her worries to evaporate, Booth informed her confidently that, on dates, they would sit on the same side of the table. While they'd had some of their most intimate and heartfelt conversations leaning across that very table toward one another in a way that made it surprising they hadn't closed the distance with a kiss, Booth boldly deemed separate sides of the table to be insufficient for the dating experience. Raising an eyebrow at his near-psychological description of the dating process, Brennan listened patiently to the dating "rules." Booth continued, noting that, on other times when they were not officially on dates, they would each sit on their own "sides" as they always had and that he would ogle her from farther away. She started to protest but instead opted to ask him why he had wanted to sit on her side of the table during the date. At her question, he had smiled at her and leaned closer, telling her with his eyes that he intended to kiss her sooner rather than later just for asking him that question.

"You guys want your normal evening orders?" Vera squeaked behind them. She'd been annoyed that they hadn't sat in their normal places. She'd even hurried over because she hadn't realized who had occupied the table.

"MmmmHmmm...," Booth said without ripping his gaze from his partner's. Normally he'd have gone out of his way and possibly even wrenched his back to turn around to smile at Vera, but not tonight. He was on a date with Bones and even common courtesy to others couldn't distract him from that singularly happy fact. Smiling at how wrapped up in one another they now were, Vera made a quick exit.

"I think you made Vera uncomfortable," Brennan said with a grin as she inched even closer toward him. It was as if his happy smile and his strong physique had become even more magnetic and had pulled her toward him. It felt strange and yet strangely perfect to allow his strong magnetic field to draw her closer.

"I don't care. I'm on a date... my first date with you... I can't see Vera or any other woman."

To hide how truly happy she felt to see him that utterly content about spending time with her, she teased him, "That's corny, Booth."

"It's true," he whispered, finally leaning close enough to plant a kiss on her waiting lips. Magnetism, she supposed, had been the perfect metaphor for his effect on her that evening. She had felt the crackle of a force as powerful as intense electromagnetic energy race through her entire body when his lips had pressed tenderly against her own.

Still caught up in the heady rush of endorphins that had accompanied that tender kiss, Brennan tried diversion to forestall her temptation to drag him to the car or the restroom or the nearest dark corner to ravish him, "I thought it wasn't customary to kiss until the end of the first date," Brennan stated coyly, her eyes not leaving his lips as she spoke.

He could see that she was just toying with him. She'd enjoyed that kiss as much as he had, "It's not customary to wait this many years for the first date. We're way past customary, Bones."

"That is a valid point," she said, grinning, leaning in and kissing him again just because she had wanted to do so.

By the time their food had arrived, they'd disentangled from one another and managed to eat their meals in companionable conversation. Booth paused in his eating more than once to place his arm around her. She felt her heart stutter-step every time he looked at her like that. He kissed her whenever she had stolen a fry, and she decided that she now had more incentive than ever to save Booth from those unhealthy potatoes filling his plate. She was completely willing to become a mindless Pavlov's dog if stealing fries would earn her more kisses from him—from the man making her heart beat erratically every time he looked into her eyes.

When Vera brought the bill, she finally had to ask, "What's up with you two tonight? I've never seen you so... touchy."

"It's our first date," they both replied at the same time. Vera laughed, "Yeah, right," she said, shaking her head and dismissing them as being silly. She'd never have believed that those two hadn't been dating for years. She'd seen too many intimate meals at that table over the years to fall for that line. 

T R A N S L A T I O N . . . T R A N S L A T I O N . . . T R A N S L A T I O N . . . T R A N S L A T I O N . . .

Caught up in rampant speculation and utter nosiness, the squints and Sweets had finished their meal and wandered over to the Founding Fathers to continue placing bets and guessing what sort of first date their favorite couple might finally be on.

Eventually Cam had gotten past her discomfort at being pumped for information about what Booth might plan for a date. That had been extremely awkward—so much so that she had tried imitating Angela's "Awkward... Really awkward" line and then opted for wine to take the edge off her discomfort. She knew that Booth's feelings for Dr. Brennan were much more intense than the connection she'd shared with him. She'd known that for years and was perfectly okay with that reality. That fact finally settled internally and with the group, she began considering that Booth would plan elaborately romantic gestures to show his feelings for Brennan. Her own relationship with him had been more straightforward and simple—and it had worked for them, but Booth had always been a romantic, so she had embellished a bit based on his prior overtures and suggested a few things. "I bet they're walking around the mall or sitting in front of the Lincoln Memorial," she suggested.

None of them realizing or even considering how inappropriate their obsessive conversation had become, Angela finally broke down. "I can't stand it. I'm asking," she said, ripping out her phone and rattling off a text to her friend.

When Brennan pulled out her phone, Booth intercepted it, saying, "It's Angela," before reading the text message and laughing. He entered a quick reply and hit send before showing his partner the message and turning off her phone. 

T R A N S L A T I O N . . . T R A N S L A T I O N . . . T R A N S L A T I O N . . . T R A N S L A T I O N . . .

Angela's mouth fell open when she received the quick response. But then she realized that Booth had to have sent the message. Shaking her head, she looked at their thread.

"Had hot sex yet?" she had written originally.

"4 times. He's a God," Booth had responded.

"Nice one, Booth. Not even U R that good. Leaving U 2 alone now," she typed before regaling the table with the tale of Booth's outlandish claims.

Instead of giving up and moving on, the group then became even more morbidly curious about what the dynamic crime-fighting duo had actually been doing. They telephoned Sid to see if perhaps Booth had only been exaggerating. Perhaps they'd fallen straight into bed and ordered takeout. Sadly, Sid reported that he had not heard from them. "Booth will be courting her, Angela. He's a gentleman."

A great debate about what other activities the pair would be involved in ensued. They could not arrive at a consensus. There just hadn't been enough evidence despite their determination to find some or make some up. 

T R A N S L A T I O N . . . T R A N S L A T I O N . . . T R A N S L A T I O N . . . T R A N S L A T I O N . . .

Outside the diner after their meal, Booth and Brennan started walking arm-in-arm down the block. "What next?" Booth asked, pausing and turning toward his partner. He was thrilled with the way the evening had gone to this point and was content to do anything or nothing—as long as they were together. It was strange. For years, he'd imagined planning ways to sweep Bones off her feet, but now that they were on a date, the form didn't seem to matter—only the substance of their quietly romantic time spent together.

"Let's go get a drink," Brennan had suggested, looping her arm back through his and leading him in the opposite direction.

"Founding Fathers? Are you sure about that, Bones? You know at least one of the squints will be there. Won't that be awkward?"

"Not really. They all know we're out on a date. I don't mind them seeing us together like this—do you?" she asked searching his face carefully.

He didn't hesitate to reassure. He didn't care who saw them together—he just wanted to be with her, "No... Of course not. I just never pictured our first date to involve the squint squad."

"We can go somewhere else if you want," she offered.

"No, you're probably right. They're going to have to get used to seeing us together as a couple. Might as well start now," he said, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and planting a kiss in her hair as they continued their walk to their favorite bar.

His heart felt as if it had grown a few sizes larger as Bones had insisted that they had no reason to feel uncomfortable being with their friends. When she'd added that nothing had really changed and that they were just acting on feelings that had always been there, he'd stopped her and reminded her exactly what had changed—he could now kiss her crazily in the middle of a block just because he felt like it.

"You'll do anything to win a debate, Booth."

"Especially if it involves kissing you, Bones," he confessed as he slipped his arm back around her shoulder so that they could continue walking. 

T R A N S L A T I O N . . . T R A N S L A T I O N . . . T R A N S L A T I O N . . . T R A N S L A T I O N . . .

Unable to settle their curiosity, the now inebriated group from the Jeffersonian sat facing the corner windows as they huddled conspiratorially and analyzed the ongoing first date that had mesmerized all of them. Eventually, they turned to Sweets for his professional opinion. After a speech about how he had to respect his patients' confidentiality, Sweets offered his own theory. "No disrespect to you ladies or your estimation of Agent Booth's sexual prowess, but I suspect that Dr. Brennan might be inclined to jump him at the door. It will, however, be Agent Booth who spurns her advances in favor of a more traditional first date. I mean, dude... that's a lot of pressure for a guy who just had surgery."

Hodgins agreed wholeheartedly, "Oh, man... So many years of wanting her like that... of listening to her talk about having sex with other guys... of reading her books and knowing... Yeah. Sweets is right. That's a lot of pressure. I wouldn't want to be Booth right now."

"Why? Because his friends and his therapist are speculating in public about his ability to perform sexually?" Brennan interrupted.

Fortunately neither man had taken a drink or eaten anything when the dating couple had walked up behind them. Neither Hodgins nor Sweets had seen the couple arrive or noticed the way the ladies had tried to stop their conversation. Each man had turned an unhealthy shade of pale, and they both now looked as if they feared imminent death.

Booth cleared his throat, leveled both men with a gaze that threatened violence, and said, "You guys are all pathetic."

"I concur. You all need to 'get a life.' Booth and I have had a lovely date. But that's hardly reason for all of you to sit here speculating about our personal lives. Would you like a drink, Booth?" she asked. He nodded and she headed to the bar to retrieve a beverage for each of them.

As the guys moved farther away from Booth and willingly offered up their barstools for the couple (and for their own safety), Angela spoke, "You guys don't have to sit here with us... you know... on your date," hoping to ease the tension that now ran rampant through the group.

"We probably should. You'll be saying that we're doing illicit things with each other in the restroom if we don't stay here so you can watch us," Booth grumbled. He was now convinced that joining the squint squad for a drink or two had been a terrible idea.

Before he could continue to berate them, Bones returned with a bottle of beer for him and a glass of wine for her. He stood and offered her the barstool on his left but she shook her head and motioned for him to sit back down. As he did so, she surprised him by turning her back to him and leaning back against him. Instinctively, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, whispering "Thanks for the drink" into her ear and planting a series of kisses beneath it. She shivered from his proximity and the feel of his breath on her neck and in her ear but otherwise appeared completely at ease in his arms.

Despite the fact that nearly everyone stared at the couple for a few awkward moments and that only moments before Booth and Brennan had caught them actively talking about their newly expanded social lives, the group slowly settled into a lively conversation. While so many things about the evening were the same as on other nights the group had gotten together, it was obvious in the subtle touches and glances and in the way that both Brennan and Booth were looking at one another that they were happy and that everything was as it should be between them. Even Sweets had been surprised how relaxed both Booth and Brennan were given their first opportunity to be obviously together in front of their friends. He knew better than to voice that opinion. He was still cringing from the words he'd spoken in front of Booth earlier that evening and relishing the fact that he was just lucky to be alive.

Later, after the second round of toasts in which their friends began admitting more freely how happy they were for them, Booth pushed Bones to her feet and sidled up to her, wrapping his arm around her. "Well, guys we appreciate your support and all, but Bones and I have a date to continue. And we'd rather not have you watch us... Watch me kiss her goodnight." He had corrected himself quickly and avoided the catcalls that might have followed that announcement had he not rephrased it carefully.

"Booth's right. We appreciate your support... and the drinks. But we really must be going," she said, locking her gaze on her partner's for a long moment. They broke the stare only to make certain not to add too much fuel to the fire of their colleagues' conversation.

"Goodnight," they both said, and they laughed as their co-workers yelled supportive as well as inappropriate things as they made their way out of the bar arm-in-arm.

After they walked through the doorway and around the corner from the entrance, Booth surprised Brennan by pressing her up against the wall and kissing her deeply. After a few heady moments, he pulled back and whispered, "I never imagined how hot it would be for you to be okay being with me in front of our friends." In response, she instinctively grabbed the lapels of his jacket and pulled him closer, reigniting the spark that kiss had set off between them. Heedless of the public place or the fact that their friends were so near, the pair quickly lost themselves in gentle exploration of one another, relishing the time to be together and walk in familiar places and yet be together in an entirely new way.

When they finally came up for air, Booth shook his head. "What's wrong? Do I need a breath mint?" Brennan asked with concern filling her voice. "No, Bones," Booth said with a chuckle and a wink, "You're perfect. That was... perfect. But our friends were watching us," he confided, nodding in the direction of their entirely nosy coworkers.

"They really are hopeless," she said, grabbing his hand and pulling him farther down the street. A moment later, they spun around and waved to their friends who still had their noses pressed against the window to watch them disappear for the rest of their date. 

T R A N S L A T I O N . . . T R A N S L A T I O N . . . T R A N S L A T I O N . . . T R A N S L A T I O N . . .

Booth drove Bones home holding her hand the whole way and enjoying the ebb and flow of the conversation and the fact that he was more than content just being with her. However, as he parked the car and walked around to open her door and walk her to the apartment, he found that he actually had been feeling more than a bit nervous. Having the guys at the bar state so explicitly how nervous he should be and how much he should be feeling pressured to deliver and make things special for Bones had been a bit of intimidation he hadn't needed.

Tonight would have been a pretty lame date had he and Bones not been floating along on the tide of their newfound relationship. He could do better. He would do better. But first things first. He'd always known that he'd be awed in this situation if it ever happened. How to pull off a simple, effective goodnight kiss after his first date with the woman he'd loved for years—he still didn't know how he'd do it. But this was Bones and he'd die trying to make her happy, so he knew they'd figure it out.

He'd been encouraged by the way that Bones had held tightly onto his hand even after they'd walked past the security guard and a few neighbors at the door to her building. It had almost been surreal how much Bones seemed to enjoy showing everyone around them that they were now a couple. He'd fully expected her to try to pretend that they were still just partners. He couldn't help worrying that she'd get cold feet and back away from him eventually, but that hadn't yet happened. He tried not to worry about that for now. He had enough other things on his mind.

At the door to her apartment, he stopped her as she tried to unlock the door. "Bones, listen," he began, swallowing hard when she turned to face him with an expression that had been so open it had almost floored him.

"Tonight was wonderful. I had a great time. It was the best first date... ever."

"I enjoyed myself, too, Booth," she said, turning to unlock the door. Again, he put pressure on her arms and turned her around to face him.

"This... Bones... This is the part where I kiss you goodnight," he said in a hoarse whisper, leaning down, he pressed gentle kisses to her forehead and cheek before diving down and capturing her waiting lips with his own.

Had there been any remaining doubts about the step they were now taking, that kiss would have rendered them pointless. This kiss was deeper and yet more tender, more intensely intimate than any other they'd shared to date.

Underestimating her response, Booth quickly lost control of the kiss. In no time, Bones was wrapping herself around him and half-moaning into his mouth. Struggling to retain his sanity, he pulled back before he lost the will to do so.

"Wow... Bones... That was... Go out with me again?" Ever the traditionalist, he felt compelled to ask.

"Certainly," she said with eyes lit with more than just the hallway lighting and lips swollen from kissing him and being kissed overwhelmingly well in return. "We're giving this thing a try, right? I assumed that automatically meant more dates with you."

"Yeah. And that's... Jeez, Bones... I still can't believe it sometimes," he confessed happily as he leaned his forehead down so that he could rest it upon hers.

She squeezed his hand in comfort and agreement, "Booth, you don't have to leave."

"Bones, I don't want to leave, but this... this is too important. This thing between us... It's not just about... you know..." She was amused by the way that dropping the pain medication had brought back Booth's reticence about sexual matters. She smiled at his discomfort saying the word that had clearly been on both of their minds for the steamier parts of their evening.

"I'm not an innocent school girl, and you've been courting me for years, Booth."

"I... God, Bones... I just..."

"I appreciate your willingness to be honorable and patient and chivalrous, Booth. Really, I do. But that night in the alley..."

Upon hearing those words he was suddenly able to think about her even more clearly than he longed for her. He stepped closer and wrapped his arms around her, aching with the knowledge that they were both still reeling from the trauma of that horrible evening in the alley.

"That night in the alley, I promised. I promised myself that I wouldn't let anything keep us apart. We... I made us waste too many years, Booth. And now that we're giving this a chance, I don't want to hold anything back. I don't want to spend any more nights longing for you or wishing that you were there in my bed or that I was in yours. Stay with me-please?"

Had Booth not been so caught up in the moment, the significance of her words might have knocked him flat. "But Bones, you've never had anybody show you how much you deserve to be romanced and adored and held without sex getting in the way. I don't want to be like those other guys who just jumped you the first chance they got."

With happy tears glistening around the rims of her beautiful eyes, Bones leaned closer and whispered intently, "Booth, we've waited for years. I'm asking you to stay. Don't make me beg."

_Jesus, Joseph and Mary..._ _the day Temperance Brennan had to beg him to spend the night with her..._ That had been Booth's last coherent thought before he kissed his partner senseless right there in the hallway. Having given himself permission to indulge in touching her the way he'd dreamt of doing for too long, he waited impatiently, wrapping himself around her and kissing her neck and her shoulders as she tried with shaky hands to unlock the door. Fighting the impulse to knock it down, Booth spun her around and kissed her again, somehow finding enough spare brainpower to unlock the door as he did so. They stumbled into her apartment, a tangle of limbs and lips and other body parts. He pressed her back against the other side of the door and pulled back only for a moment to ask one last time, "Are you sure about this?"

"Absolutely," she said in a low voice that turned his gut to jelly. She kissed him again, and they began the lovers' dance across her apartment, leaving a trail of jackets and a purse and a belt with a Cocky belt buckle and shoes behind them.

By the time they reached her bedroom, things had been heated enough that the inevitable had now become a certainty. Still, Booth surprised her by pausing and sitting down on the bed, reaching for her hand and smiling when she took it and sat down beside him.

Absentmindedly rubbing his fingers over the knuckle on her left hand's ring finger without even realizing he'd been doing so, Booth paused for a moment before speaking in a voice so full of emotion that it had actually slowed her heart rate and caused her some difficulty breathing.

"Bones... I... You know you're it, right? I mean, I know we're just technically giving this thing between us a try, but this... being with you is what I want. I want tonight to be the beginning. And I want it to be special. And I... hell, I've wanted you for so long that it's made me crazy. But what I feel for you... It's... I just...," he paused and turned to look straight at her as he continued, "I'm in love with you, Temperance."

Professions of love in books and plays and opera performances had never moved this woman to tears. Attempting to explore the effect those words had had on other people, she'd studied such passages intently and never quite understood why so many people found them to be so emotional, so touching. Love was a fleeting, temporary feeling, and those who uttered those words had either left after saying them or only said them to get what they had wanted from her. So it had been with utter amazement that Temperance Brennan sat there reeling from her partner's honest admission. Even though there could be no scientific explanation for it, she had felt those words even more than she'd heard them.

Unable to return the sentiment honestly because she had no idea how to do so yet, she smiled at him, eager to say something to let him know that she understood what he was trying to tell her. "I knew that, too," she whispered. She watched as tears flashed momentarily in her soon-to-be-lover's eyes.

Clearing his throat to calm himself, Booth stood up and pulled her up to face him. After kissing her so tenderly that both of them felt weak, he finally allowed their longings for one another to take over, taking blissful time getting to know his partner even more intimately than he ever had before.

Despite years of yearning long ignored, a firm foundation of pure friendship, and the significance of this change they were making, there were no awkward moments, there was no hint of incompatibility, there was no hesitation, and there was absolutely no need for translation of their feelings for one another. There had been only love and passion, desires finally met, and new desires born.

For the first time in her life, Temperance Brennan had encountered tangible, physical, irrefutable evidence that love was indeed real and that its existence could be confirmed. Making love with Booth and forming a more intimate bond with him had been unlike any other sexual or relational experience she'd encountered. Generously, patiently and tenderly, her partner had given himself to her completely-mind, soul, and well-defined body. He'd awakened emotions and yearnings within her that she'd never thought possible. A piece of her heart now seemed irrevocably bound with his. Emotionally more than physically, Booth himself had become evidence enough to put any remaining reservations she'd had to rest.

As he had since he'd met her, Booth made good on his promises. He literally consumed her—turning her mind inside out and driving her body past the point at which she could distinguish one source of pleasure from another. He did so with such care, such determination, and such skill that she marveled how she had ever pretended not to have wanted to experience every physical and emotional gift he had to offer. Moved by his tenderness and fueled by the fire he'd lit within her, Brennan responded in the only way she knew how. She reciprocated in offering herself to him in ways intended to arouse and then consume him in return.

T R A N S L A T I O N . . . T R A N S L A T I O N . . . T R A N S L A T I O N . . . T R A N S L A T I O N . . .

Brennan and her very capable and enthusiastic lover had taken turns waking one another and exploring one another in ways that had proved to be endlessly enjoyable. Sated, happy, and exhausted, the lovers eventually slept wrapped in one another's arms in the waning hours of the morning.

After she turned off her alarm and mumbled something incomprehensible in her exhaustion, Booth rolled over and whispered into her ear. "I'm calling in... Stay here with me, Temperance. Let's stay home in bed today."

"Booth, we can't... They'll know what we're doing. I... Working with you having everyone know we're dating will be difficult enough. Where would I even begin to make up a credible excuse for being absent?"

On a high even he had not anticipated, Booth ignored her arguments and crawled out of bed to locate his cell phone. Standing and stretching his weary but contented body and enjoying the fact that his lover—God, Bones was actually his lover—was admiring his physique while pretending to sleep, he dialed his office and left a message with the receptionist that he had overdone it his first day back and that he needed to take the day off to recuperate. Sympathetic for the entirely gorgeous man who had always flirted with her shamelessly even though her children were near his age, Eleanor had smiled and wished him a quick recovery.

"You lie very well, Booth. That is cause for concern," Brennan grumbled as he grinned down at her. "What? I didn't lie. I did overdo it. I didn't say where that happened. Should I call Eleanor back and tell her that I overdid it here in the bed of the FBI's favorite forensic anthropologist? It'll break her heart, but I'll give her the dirty details if you wish." As he'd spoken, he'd pulled her toward him and embraced her tightly as she squirmed while he teased her. He knew in that very moment that he'd never tire of the feel of her body in his arms.

"It's not fair. You know that they'll all be there... They'll know why we're not in the office, Booth. You're the one uncomfortable discussing sex-how are you going to handle the leers and the jokes?"

"Mmmm... Temperance...," he whispered in a gravelly voice in her ear as he felt her body grow still as he began exploring her curves with those hands that were as adept at stopping her great mind from functioning as they were on aiming a gun at a suspect, "I promise I'll make it worth your while if you stay here with me. You'll be rewarded for your sacrifice and your bravery. Promise."

"For someone who said he was interested in more than just sex, you seem to be focused intently upon that one facet of our relationship," she complained half-heartedly. After staring at him for a long moment, she realized that she would never be able to focus on work—not when she'd be wishing she'd stayed in bed with her partner. She was still so moved by the entire evening's experience that she couldn't even pretend to be worried or unnerved about anything that had happened. "I intend to hold you to that promise," she said, kissing him quickly and then leaving the room to call in.

She intentionally sent the message through the voicemail system so that she wouldn't have to talk to anyone directly. "Cam, this is Doctor Brennan. I need to take today off. I will be back in the office tomorrow morning. I apologize for the inconvenience." As she clicked the call off, she felt Booth walk up behind her, sweep her hair off her neck and begin kissing a white hot trail down toward her shoulder. The phone missed the cradle and rattled loudly on the countertop but neither of them noticed. They were already overwhelmed by the heady rush of another opportunity to express their feelings for one another in new and overwhelmingly satisfying ways. 

T R A N S L A T I O N . . . T R A N S L A T I O N . . . T R A N S L A T I O N . . . T R A N S L A T I O N . . .

They were both seemingly insatiable—given the fact that they'd also managed to christen Booth's family room the following afternoon when he'd gone over to retrieve his laptop and clothes for work the following morning. Brennan had assaulted her partner with her body the moment he'd unlocked the door to his apartment. That had seemed the only rational response to the way her body trembled as she remembered the way Booth had taken control of gaining access to her apartment the evening before.

The following morning, they'd nearly run late after making the fatal mistake of opting to shower together. Neither of them had even considered sleeping anywhere but with one another now that they'd taken the proverbial leap off the pier and found only complete satisfaction where they'd splash-landed. Booth drove them through a donut shop drive-through and picked up coffee and donuts since they hadn't had time to eat at home or at the diner. At the Jeffersonian, he barely had time to park before Bones leapt from the car and rushed for the elevator. Running to keep up with her, Booth barely managed to board the elevator before she pressed the doors closed.

"I don't see why you're accompanying me to the lab. We don't have a case. It is obvious that you're just eager to brag to the men about your conquest."

"Conquests, Bones. Many conquests," he said with a smirk that was as infuriating as it was sexy, "I'm a modern, liberated man. I'm happy to admit that I wasn't the only conqueror. In fact, I'd even admit that it was a pretty close race."

"Really, Booth," she said, shrugging off the arm he had wrapped around her shoulder. "You'll be late for work. You have been off too much recently. You don't want to be unprofessional."

"I am picking up folders and evidence from Hodgins for Caroline, Bones. I have as professional a reason to be here as you do."

She scowled at him as she exited the elevator and tried not to spill her coffee as she rushed toward her office.

"You're really gorgeous when you're angry and frustrated," he said, hoping to disarm her. It felt otherworldly to be able to compliment her like that within the walls of this particular building.

"You'll have to improve your flattery if you expect it to work, Agent Booth."

"Agent Booth? Seriously? Bones, baby... you even called me Seeley last night—loudly and more than once."

She whirled and glared at him in a way that wiped the cocky grin off his face—almost.

He fought through the haze of desire her glare inspired and opted for brutal honesty. "I'll behave, Bones. I swear I will. I'm just so damned happy. Cut me some slack. You know you're the reason I'm so happy."

Shaking her head, she stepped closer to him and grabbed one of his lapels, using it to pull him closer, "I'm pretty happy, too, Booth." She kissed him hard and then pulled away abruptly to resume her determined march to her office.

"Hey Bones," he whispered as he noticed that the lab was eerily quiet, "Nobody's here. Where do you think everyone is?"

"I'm certain I do not know. Perhaps they're in a conference call or observing while Hodgins is performing an experiment. You know I prefer not to speculate without evidence, Booth," she said brusquely as the crossed the threshold to her office.

Forgetting anything else except the desire to kiss her and the fact that they were alone, Booth rushed around her and pressed her firmly against the door to her office somehow managing not to cause either of them to spill a drop of coffee as he began to kiss her senseless. Forgetting all reason and sanity and caution, Brennan instantly lost herself in his touch and his mind-altering kiss. She was already considering dragging him back outside so that they could drive home for another day in bed together.

"How's that for evidence, Temperance?" Booth asked a challenge in his voice and his face only millimeters from hers, his breath now ragged.

He had assumed that Bones was just frustrated that he'd been revving her up in the office. But when her expression changed, he tilted his head hoping she'd explain what was wrong.

"We have an audience," she whispered, watching the blush start to creep up his neck.

Booth turned slowly hoping that Max wasn't standing behind him ready to kill him. There had been nothing remotely platonic about the way that he'd pressed the man's daughter against the door. Instead, Booth was aggravated to see that the entire squint squad plus Sweets was standing stunned on the opposite side of Bones' office. At least they appeared to be mortified to have witnessed more of their colleagues' new habits than they'd expected.

Shifting Bones strategically in front of him and pulling her back against him, Booth barked, "You people really need therapy..."

"Booth, we were just planning to tease Dr. Brennan about her conspicuous absence yesterday," Cam tried to explain but quickly realizing that Seeley wasn't amused with her excuse.

"We had no idea you'd waltz in here for the second inning this early," Hodgins confessed, earning an elbow to the rib from Angela.

"We get it. You approve. Nice of you, but Bones and I aren't looking for approval. We have each other's. What happens between us outside the lab and when we're alone in here and not working is our business-ours. So I suggest that you all leave now. I want to kiss my girlfriend in private."

Like dogs being punished for bad behavior, the team of scientists skulked out of the office. Booth and Brennan laughed after the door closed behind their chagrined colleagues. Reveling in the private moment, Booth kissed Bones again—just because he wanted to do so.

"I've really gotta go. I'll miss you," he said, reaching down for a quick kiss before grabbing an evidence box and leaving. She nodded and turned to watch him leave.

As she watched her lover hurry down the stairs and out of the lab, she colored slightly realizing that all of their observers' eyes were now focused directly on her. Just when she'd been ready to rush into her office to collect her scattered thoughts, she heard Booth call out, "Hodgins... Second inning? Not even in the right ballpark, man." Blowing Bones a kiss and hoping she'd forgive his indiscretion, Booth turned and jogged down the hallway. After scanning her friends' faces and seeing that they were duly impressed with Booth's confession, she had surprised them all by adding, "Not even close to the right ballpark" before turning and closing the door to her office.

Her implication must have registered because she had listened to the approving whispers of her colleagues as she turned on the lights and smiled at the bouquet of flowers her lover had sent a few days before. 

T R A N S L A T I O N . . . T R A N S L A T I O N . . . T R A N S L A T I O N . . . T R A N S L A T I O N . . .

Seven months, three weeks, and two and one-half days later...

After putting the final touches on the paperwork for the rather disturbing case they'd just closed, Brennan suggested to Booth that they go out like they had in the past to celebrate the successful end of a case. Surprised by her suggestion but eager to make her happy, Booth had agreed. He'd excused himself to go to the restroom while Bones had closed things down in her office. They'd been working for hours and the mood of the day had hung heavily upon both of them. While Booth definitely preferred their new routine of rushing to her apartment or his and falling in bed to celebrate the victory of justice over evil and wrongdoing, he understood Bones' interest in doing something different, something comforting, and something familiar to lift their moods that particular evening.

Observing her mood but not commenting on it directly, Booth helped her into her coat and asked if she'd wanted to invite Angela and Hodgins or Cam or anyone else from the team to join them. Perhaps a party with their friends might help minimize the worry lines he read in her forehead. She shook her head and kissed his cheek while telling him that going out with him was what she wanted. He smiled as he considered that she might never fully understand what a simple statement like that still did to him. Her words could transport him to mountaintops from the bottom of valleys and could humble him in an instant. He was past the point of wondering whether she meant a statement like "going out with him was what she wanted" on more than just the literal level.

Since that day months earlier when they'd gone out on their first date, there had been no turning back. It hadn't been the easiest of relationships—Brennan was stubborn as an ox—not that he'd tell her without fear of bodily harm—and her inexperience with relationships had made things challenging for both of them on more than one occasion—hell, more than once a week. His temper and his jealousy had added even more spice to the recipe of their relationship. But he wouldn't change a moment of it—not even the ones in which he'd been torn between ravishing her and strangling her. They'd long since moved past the need for any translation of each person's feelings for the other. Because at the root of it all, they'd built a romantic relationship that fit perfectly atop the layers of friendship, partnership, respect, and admiration they'd accumulated since they'd met. It wasn't always a hallmark card, but it was a relationship that was uniquely theirs, and he thought it was pretty damned wonderful.

Booth realized that Bones was still thrown a bit by their arrest of the mother for the murder of the young murder victim earlier that day. He knew that Temperance was wounded and sad about the way that the victim's family had been ripped apart. Fortunately, he also knew that being stunned and sad about a case didn't mean that she had any doubts about their relationship. Booth knew that she had faith in them. Over time, she'd learned to expand that faith she'd had in him to cover them and their newly formed relationship. They'd developed as balanced and complementary a love life as the partnership it was founded upon. As they'd dated, he'd continued to fall for her, and he'd be damned if there weren't moments in which he was certain she'd been tumbling along behind him. Pops had been right—following his heart had been all he'd needed to do. He was still as grateful as possible that she'd been willing to follow hers, too.

As they neared the entrance to the diner, Bones stopped abruptly and turned to face him. He hated the worry he could read in her features but he knew better than to crowd her. Some things she just needed time to sort out. He understood that because he was like-minded.

"Bones?" he asked, his concern for her evident in his gaze, in his gentle touch.

"I... suddenly I'm not in the mood for the diner. I want a drink. Do you... Would you mind if we go to the bar instead?"

"I love it when you change your mind, Bones. It's girly. You know how hot I think it is when you do something remotely girly," he quipped hoping to coax a smile from her. She did smile a bit, but it hadn't lit up her eyes the way he had hoped.

Concerned about her state of mind but trying not to show it, Booth wrapped an arm around her to lead her toward their new destination. Just outside the bar, she stopped again. A bit of hesitation or uncertainty had always been a turn on where Bones was concerned, but now she was starting to worry him.

He turned to look at her, his warm brown eyes scanning hers desperately for a signal about what might make her feel better. Her own vibrant blue eyes were rimmed with tears, sending an instant pang of concern straight into his gut.

"I love you, Booth," she said, watching his face and noticing the way that he seemed to have stopped breathing. "I... This case... Telling Mr. Warren that his wife had betrayed him so cruelly... Watching his pain... Seeing how much he had loved her and been hurt by her actions. I would never betray you like that, Booth. I love you too much."

Booth seemed frozen. He hadn't moved or breathed or even blinked since she'd spoken to him. "Booth... are you okay?"

Unable to speak, he nodded slightly, obviously still stunned by her words. He hadn't been sure she'd ever love him the way that he loved her, and he'd been far past the point of expecting her to tell him.

"Surely you're not surprised to hear me profess my love for you. I've loved you for so long and just not found the proper way to tell you. You know that I love you, don't you?"

She watched as the shock on his face morphed into a flash of happiness before he rushed toward her and enveloped her his arms and initiated a kiss that was quite a bit too steamy to be appropriate on a public sidewalk.

Gasping for breath by the time he released his hold on her, Brennan struggled quickly to understand why her partner, her lover, her best friend, her one and only love would be pulling her away from the bar they'd intended to visit. Before she could gather her thoughts and ask what he was doing, he'd hailed a cab and started nudging her into the open door. "Booth! Our cars... aren't you hungry?"

He barked out the address for her apartment before kissing her as if one of both of their lives had depended upon it. When they finally came up for air, he smiled at her the secret smile he reserved for their most intimate moments alone together. "You can't do that, Bones. You can't tell me you love me and expect me to sit in a restaurant or a bar and pretend that I'm not the happiest man on this planet."

Seeing how thrilled he was made her glad she'd blurted out those words that she'd never thought she'd feel much less vocalize to anyone. Yet she couldn't resist teasing him, "I can't? The happiest man on the entire planet? There's no way to measure... You can't be certain about that fact."

"I'm pretty damn sure," he sighed before relishing another steamy kiss as their taxi pulled up to her apartment. He paid the fare and they walked arm-in-arm toward her apartment building. As they crossed the lobby and entered the elevator, he dialed Sid and asked him to deliver something to Brennan's apartment.

"Anything special?" Sid had asked, sensing that his old friend sounded in the mood for celebration.

"Anything you want, Sid. I've already got the most special thing in the world right here in my arms," Booth said as he clicked off the call and pulled the love of his life back into his arms where she belonged.

And they really did live happily ever after.

_**[A/N: I cannot imagine a way to express my gratitude to all of you for the time and attention and advice you've offered to my inaugural story on this site. Suffering through over 100,000 words of angst in any story I write makes you worthy of respect-if not a candidate for therapy—LOL! I have felt truly welcomed and supported by all of you, and I really appreciate your reading and your reviews. **_

_**As is typical for me, my "muse" can focus on only one story at a time. So as I typed these last words, I found myself wistful about the end of this story because it has been so very much fun to write and also at a loss because I had nothing else to write about-not one single kernel of an idea. My brain is utterly one-dimensional when it comes to writing. I cannot multi-task. It simply doesn't happen. Posting the first part of the epilogue rekindled an old idea that might germinate into a story given time. Even so, it will still probably be a while before I post a new story. I like to bank most if not all of a story before posting. Until then, I hope to read your stories, watch Bones re-runs, and count the days until Season 6 starts!**_

_**Thanks again for the incredibly generous reviews!]**_


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